


Lonely in London

by banjjakbanjjak



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: 90s Rom Com, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Pining, Sleepless in Seattle, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banjjakbanjjak/pseuds/banjjakbanjjak
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and a mysterious caller only known as Lonely in London phones in on a radio show: To Be Loved or Not To Be Loved, with Dr. Wellbelove. He reminisces over a boy he fell in love with ten years ago.Simon listens to the broadcast, and he could only think of one person.But it can't be Baz Pitch, right?
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 155
Kudos: 208





	1. COVER




	2. CHAPTER 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve. Simon's driving down from Manchester to Hounslow to join Penny for Christmas. 
> 
> Tuning in to a radio show, the mysterious caller brings back old memories of an old enemy. 
> 
> What if it was him?

**SIMON**

_Twist and pull, hard._

_Bang. Now hear for the click._

_Done_.

The door’s been busted for months, but neither Simon nor Ebb were particularly fussed about replacing it, not since they’ve figured out how to lock it up properly. Ebb enjoyed the little quirks about their little bakery, which now featured a door that needed to be _encouraged_ to close. Simon just figured it’d be him or Ebb closing shop anyway, so it’ll get locked up no matter.

He gave the door one last push, making sure it’s locked up properly, before going around the back of the building for his car. The streets were quiet and empty, the usual hustle and bustle of Manchester tucked away for Christmas Eve. Simon was the one to suggest keeping the bakery open on Christmas Eve when he first started. Ebb had protested, arguing that no one should have to work on today, but since he had no family to spend it with, he didn’t mind.

Also, there was always at least one person with a dessert emergency. And Simon was right, every year since, there’d be a stream of customers coming in throughout the day, ranging from hysterical to extremely grateful. Some Simon even recognised several from previous years, evidently having given up on making dessert all together and just trusting their bakery to provide.

For Simon, it worked out perfectly, really. Despite Penny’s generous invite to spend Christmas with her and her family, Simon always felt in the way and a touch overwhelmed by the controlled chaos that was Christmas at the Bunce house. Working today meant staying out of their hair and letting the chaos unfold like a well-oiled machine, showing up at the end of the day with an assortment of baked goods.

So, Simon climbed into his car and settled down for the long drive ahead to the Bunce house in Hounslow. The plan would be to get there just after late evening, missing dinner, but just in time to help wash up. Earn his keep, start prep for Christmas pudding, then join Penny for a glass or five of eggnog. It was more than he’s ever had, and he didn’t want more. With his phone opened on Google Maps, Simon made his way out of the city and onto the motorway toward London.

 _It’s half-past now, so I should get in around 10-ish. Perfect_.

Between switching lanes to avoid other people rushing on Christmas Eve and trying to dig into his box of leftover baked goods, Simon’s given up on trying to get his phone to play music and give him directions.

_Why did they get rid of all the bloody buttons on phones? God damn it._

With nothing but the sounds of other cars filling the air, Simon cranked on the radio.

“ _You’ve just tuned into BBC Radio 1. Happy Christmas everyone. I am Dr. Agatha Wellbelove, here to ask the question: To Be Loved or Not To Be Loved. Where you call in to convince me, and other listeners, whether love isn’t truly dead_.”

“No thank you,” Simon said with a small grin and skipped to the next station.

“ _Our Christmas marathon continues! Now, Jingle Bell Backwards._ ”

“Not on your life,” he’s been listening to Christmas music all month. If he has to hear _All I Want For Christmas Is You_ one more time he’ll start putting up signs in the bakery about Santa Claus. Children be damned.

“ _Is your spleen giving you trouble? Boy do we have the product for you –_ ”

He eventually settled back on BBC Radio 1 and that show with Dr. Agatha, hoping it’ll either be British cynicism at its best, or the holiday spirit has unearthed some warm feelings in the population. Then again, what happy person would call into a radio show about love on Christmas Eve if they were happy?

“ _Hello?_ ” a voice said. It seemed someone actually did call in, but she sounded young, younger than the type of people Simon thought still listened to radio broadcasts.

“ _Hello, I am Dr. Agatha Wellbelove, May we please know your name and where you’re calling from?_ ”

“ _Mordy –_ BEEP- _. And I’m fine, calling from Hampshire.”_

“ _No last names Mordy. And…you sound younger than our usual callers. How old are you?_ ”

 _“Sixteen. And I’m not calling about me. It’s my older brother_ _that’s the problem, specifically, a problem with a boy._ ”

“ _Oh? What is it about your brother that seems to be the problem?_ ”

“ _He’s moping. Again. About the same guy from school from, like, a decade ago. And frankly, it’s getting dull_.”

“Oh have some sympathy, it’s Christmas,” Simon said out loud to no one, “Kids these days.”

 _“Have you spoken to your brother about it?_ ”

“ _No. It seems to just make him sadder. Or angrier. Depending on context_.”

“ _Well…_ ” the good doctor was struggling to find the right thing to say. Simon knew she wanted to probe, but the caller, Mordy, wasn’t making things easy.

“ _Are you with your brother right now? Is he busy?_ ”

“ _Yep, he came down from London today. And nope. He’s four glasses down, and spent the afternoon being a Grinch,_ ” then after a pause, “ _I’m worried about him_.”

“ _If it’s alright, would you perhaps want me to speak with your brother? Perhaps I can help_.”

“Oh the cheek of this woman,” Simon was shocked, amused, but shocked. “Hang up Mordy, she’s just after the story. Don't listen to her!”

“ _He’ll probably kill me,_ ” Mordy said, but Dr. Agatha was quick to reassure her that given her intentions, her brother won’t be cross. “ _If he yells at me, I’m complaining to Ofcom_.”

“ _Fair enough_ ,” Dr. Agatha chuckled.

“ _Hey broody, there’s a call for you_ ,” Mordy shouted away from the phone.

Now Simon was intrigued, who was this mysterious man that apparently still held a flame for some boy he met years ago. It might be driving at night, but this programme was just the distraction he needed to make this trip less dull.

There was some shuffling on one end of the phone, Simon thinks it’s on Mordy’s side, and soon another voice could be heard, faintly. Simon didn’t realise he was holding his breath until a man’s voice cut through the white noise.

“ _Hello?_ ”

Something tickled Simon’s memories, he could swear he’s heard that voice before. He sounded disinterested, bored, and almost condescending already, but London was probably full to the brim with arrogant sounding twats.

“ _Hello. I am Dr. Agatha Wellbelove, you are currently on air with BBC Radio 1,_ ” Simon chuckled at the rushed introduction. As if she was afraid he’d hang up and they’d lose out on what could be a great story. And frankly, Simon didn’t want this other guy to hang up either.

 _“You sure you’re not just trying to sell me something?_ ” the man said, “ _I’m afraid to say you missed the Christmas present rush._ ”

“ _No, no. I assure you, I’m not selling you anything. You’re currently live on To Be Loved or Not To Be Loved. Where our callers share their stories and try to convince me that love is either dead or very much alive_.”

The man scoffed at the premise, as if he were too good for the programme, too good to be speaking with her. He shouts for Mordy, but Dr. Agatha tried to smooth over the fight, calm him down and explain that this was a call out of concern.

“ _If I’m going through this, I’m not doing it alone. Get back here, you nightmare_ ,” the man said, thinking he had covered the phone or something. “ _So, what do you want to know, Dr.?”_

“ _Agatha. Dr. Agatha,_ ” she said, “ _Why don’t we start with something simple. What’s your name?_ ”

“ _Uh…Chaz_. _My name is Chaz._ ”

Simon groaned, Dr. Agatha sighed, and he was pretty sure anyone that was listening was rolling their eyes. Chaz was categorically not his name. Though, in the interest of time, she didn’t press him on it. Instead, charging ahead with what everyone was after – the boy he was moping over.

“ _Thank you, Chaz. Now, I don’t want to invade your privacy but –_ ”

“Sure you don't.”

“ _Sure you don’t_.”

Simon found himself smiling when he and Chaz said the same thing at the same time. Evidently they were both taking this show just as seriously. Simon wasn’t changing the station because of his own curiosity, but he wasn’t quite sure why Chaz was entertaining this.

“ _I really don’t, but your sister reached out because she’s worried about you. And your feelings for a boy in your past?_ ”

“Oh the poor bloke. This is practically emotional blackmail,” Simon commented.

Surprisingly, Chaz actually started talking, “ _We lived together. Roommates at school,_ ” he said, “ _He was…he was incredible. He lit up the room wherever he went, his slightly crooked smile. I spent seven years sharing a room with him, and every day I’d wake up and there he was._ ”

“ _How long were you two together?_ ”

“ _Me? And Snow? Ha.”_ Chaz was laughing now, and Simon’s heart skipped a beat. That nagging thought at the back of his mind, that familiar aloof attitude, the way he said “Snow”. It had to be Baz. Infuriating, rude, posh and professional wanker Baz Pitch.

“Baz?”

Taking a moment after he finished laughing, he continued “ _And before you ask. No, Snow isn’t his name. But it’s snowing where I am. And no, Snow and I were never together. I tormented him._ ”

“ _Interesting. Please stay where you are. Everyone, if you are just tuning in now, we’re talking to Lonely in London. We’ll be right back after the break!_ ”

The fanfare played out and the car was filled with the sounds of holiday appropriate jingles. Simon didn’t want to admit that he was a little disappointed that Chaz, or Lonely, wasn’t actually Baz. Deciding to ignore the implications of what it meant if it were Baz, Simon turned off the motorway to hit up a service station. He’s barely made a dent in his trip and he could already feel the lull of fatigue coming for him.

A quick toilet break later, he got in line with an armful of snacks and eying up the largest coffee they offered at this Costa. Simon’s always been great at compartmentalising, especially when it came to things he should think about and things he shouldn’t think about. One of those things was in the unlikely chance that Lonely really was Baz, and Snow was _him_.

_It also couldn’t possibly be Baz, right?_

Baz was horrible to him, but he took it as well as he dished it out. After he pushed Simon down a flight of stairs, Simon went ahead and broke his nose. When he sabotaged Simon’s presentation of chimeras for English, Simon stalked him relentlessly during and after school, trying to catch him doing something and get him expelled. He even went as far as to set up a page for Baz, announcing his death.

No one could do all that to someone and secretly be in love with them.

Nonetheless, Simon found himself rushing back to his car once he got his coffee, afraid he’d miss the programme, and thankfully, it didn’t look like he had missed much.

“ _I used to think he had the dullest, most common blue eyes. Turns out, even in London, no one quite matched that shade of blue._ ”

“Boy do you have it bad for this guy,” Simon said, starting up the car again and hitting the road again.

“ _And there was this fire to him, it burnt. It shined, and…it was intoxicating. It helped that he was always up for a fight, so I’d poke and prod, and happily get burnt by him_.”

“ _Did you ever tell him how you felt? Have you told anyone about how you felt?_ ”

“ _Except for you and your loving public? No._ ”

“ _Why not?_ ”

“ _Who knows. I just knew I could never be with him and that I was hopelessly in love with him. Cliché. I know, falling for your straight roommate._ ”

There was bitterness to the laugh that followed, and Simon couldn’t help but feel a bit sad, Simon had convinced himself that Lonely wasn’t Baz, because what are the chances of _that_ , but he still felt for the poor man. Misguided? Yes. Teenagers not knowing how to sort their shit out? Yes.

 _“Are you still in love with him?_ ”

“ _You know what, Dr. Agatha Wellbelove. I don’t know_.”

Simon almost missed the turn to get onto the M6, but he was lost in thought, or rather, lost in Lonely’s voice. Apparently all those years of not thinking about Baz, were being unearthed and pushed to the forefront of his mind. What was making this more confusing was how easy it was to imagine Lonely as Baz.

 _Penny would tell me I’m projecting and stop. But she’s not here_. _Hah._

He took a sip from his coffee, which has cooled down significantly since he bought it. Apparently he was so invested he forgot to drink, and the pile of snacks left untouched.

“ _Do you think there’s someone out there you could love as much as you loved Snow?_ ”

Lonely sighed into the phone, “ _It’s hard to imagine_.”

“ _How did you know it was love?_ ”

Simon rolled his eyes at the question. There’s no rhyme or reason to love, it just happens. He’s not ever met someone or been with someone that made him feel so intensely, but he could imagine what it might’ve been like. The only person he’s ever felt intensely for was Baz, but that was intense dislike, if not hatred on some (most) days.

“ _You just know. From the moment I shook his hand. The first time I touched him...I knew. It was like…_ ”

“Magic,” Simon said jokingly.

“ _Magic,_ ” Lonely said at the same time, softly, wistfully.

Simon’s eyes flickered to the radio. He felt slightly warm under his sweater, desperate for Lonely to say something else. Anything else to distract himself from that feeling deep in him that _wished_ it was Baz on the other end.

But it never came.

“ _So what are you going to do?_ ”

“ _Well. Wellbelove. I’m going to get out of bed every morning…breathe in and out all day long_ ,” Lonely said, as if he were resigned to his fate, “ _And then, after a while, I won’t have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out_. _And then…_ ”

His cheeks were damp, and his vision was starting to blur. He wasn’t sure why he felt so deeply about all of this, but he had in his mind Baz, getting ready in the morning in the room at Watford, always showered and ready for the day as Simon dragged himself out of bed. How some mornings Simon would catch him staring, and Baz’s face would shift into a sneer and gracefully leave the room.

He changed the station soon after. Not quite able to bear continuing on listening, or letting his thoughts take him on a trip down memory lane. He dried his face, dug around the passenger seat for one of the scones he’s packed and opened a bag of sweets. If he was going to listen to several hours more of Christmas music, he’s going to need food to pull him through.

* * *

Simon arrived at the Bunce house just after 10pm, no thanks to London traffic, but he was here. He was not halfway through the door before being greeted by the army that was Penny and her family. Though he’s visited them over Christmas for years now, there was always this dance at the beginning with Mitali Bunce. Simon suspected that she wasn’t too fond of him, but after rescuing a Christmas cake disaster, she’s opened up to him slightly.

Penny, on the other hand, had no reservations with him and pulled him into a quick hug, “Merry Christmas Simon.”

“Merry Christmas Pen,” he immediately made his way to the kitchen and started surveying the damage. This year, all the plates were stacked up and primed for cleaning, “Did you get the ingredients?”

“Yes, yes I did. I’d say you didn’t have to, but your Christmas cake are better than any this family could whip up,” Penny said with a small grin, “How was the bakery today?”

“All good, not too many frantic people this year,” he said as he went through the dishes, “Hey Pen, were you listening to the radio before I got here?”

She raised her eyebrows at him, “No, why?”

Simon wanted to tell Penny, but he wasn’t sure what there was to tell. Objectively, someone’s sister called in, complained about her brother, and then he went on to say how much he loved this guy he was horrible to at school. Hell, Simon didn’t know himself why he was so hung up on the broadcast.

He also knew there was no way he would be able to convince Penny why he’s almost certain it was Baz on the show. So he just shrugged and made up something about Christmas music.

Soon the dishes were done and there was shouting in the living room, “You going to check in on them?” Simon asked, drying his hands.

“We spent the whole afternoon playing Monopoly. Mum tried to use it as a teaching moment as to how the game is an example of why capitalism sucks,” Penny said.

“She landed on your Mayfair didn’t she?”

“Yep. Took everything she had,” Penny said with a smug smile.

This was nice, this was reality. Not some man waxing lyrically about some boy that got away. Simon spent the rest of the evening playing with the Bunce children, catching up with Penny’s older brother, Premal, and making polite conversation with Martin and Mitali.

For a while, he managed to distract himself enough from thinking about Baz, and the possibility that he was in love with Simon all those years.

* * *

Later that night, Simon was tossing in turning in bed, even Penny asked if he was alright. He assured her he was and tried to clear his head, but his mind kept going back to the last thing Lonely said before he changed the channel.

“ _And then…I won’t have to think about how I woke up gazing at perfection every day, at least for a little while_.”


	3. CHAPTER 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revisiting Snow is hard. Baz is emotionally drained from pouring his heart out into the void. 
> 
> What he didn't expect was people to have listened to him.

**BAZ**

There was a glint in Mordelia’s eyes that he was not happy about. The girl has become more devious as she got older, which was probably why, Fiona took a liking to her. She stuck to Baz like glue, and he had a tendency to stick to Fiona during large family gatherings, who only shows up for the booze. In retrospect, Mordelia turning out the way she did shouldn't be that surprising.

That said, this bond between Mordelia and Fiona had come back to bite him in the ass, because he was currently on the phone on a live broadcast being grilled over his love life, or lack of one. Once he figured out what was going on, and that Mordelia had put him on the spot, he shot daggers at her. She tried to get away, but Baz’s hand shot up and pulled her back down on the sofa.

“If I’m going through this, I’m not doing it alone,” he whispered harshly, struggling against a giggling Mordelia, who frankly, was only putting up half a fight, “Get back here, you nightmare.” Offering up his shoulder and turning up the volume of the phone, Mordelia rested on his shoulder as he revisited the topic of Simon Snow Salisbury.

“So, what do you want to know, Dr.?”

“ _Agatha. Dr. Agatha,_ ” she said, “ _Why don’t we start with something simple. What’s your name?_ ”

His mind went blank, he panicked. Of all the things he was ready to talk about, he didn’t think that there’d be a possibility his identity would be revealed. His eyes darted around the room, painfully aware of how a simple question like this shouldn’t take this much time to answer.

His eyes fell on the quiet TV and the annual re-run of _Oliver Twist._

_Oliver Twist. Charles Dickens. Chaz._

Clearing his throat, Baz said nonchalantly, “Uh…Chaz. My name is Chaz.” He felt his skin crawl, and he didn’t need to look at Mordelia to feel the judgment radiating from her, but she stayed quiet. Baz was grateful for Mordelia knowing when to back down and just to let things lie. Revealing his identity to the entire country was one of those things she should definitely let lie.

“ _She’s worried about you._ ”

A small pang of guilt hit him. He knew he should’ve given Mordelia more credit, but he was almost certain up until this point that she had only phoned up the radio station to take the piss out of him. She’s been bugging him throughout the week, first, asking why he was so quiet, then asking during dinner if he’s met someone. What made it worse was when their father joined in and asked if he had found a “partner to bring home” yet. Malcolm Grimm had come some ways in accepting Baz’s sexuality, supportive in his own way. He never used the words “boyfriend” or “man”, but he would mention someone at the Club, who had a son, who had a friend who seemed quite “pleasant” and that Baz could perhaps “join him at the Club one weekend to meet him.”

It was strange to think his sister and his father were growing up and, despite appearances, capable of empathy and concern for others. At least, for the wellbeing of his love life, which was all but in hibernation right now.

What was emerging out of hibernation were all the thoughts he had about Snow while they were at school together. From his sunny disposition, to his stubborn streak, the way that he just made things a little brighter.

Baz had a faint memory of how he and Snow were having one of their bi-annual brawls in fourth year and how he jutted out his chin right before they came to blows. From that moment onwards, Baz knew when Snow was gearing up for a fight. His jaw would clench tighter, and he’d stick out his chin, challenging Baz. Never one to disappoint, Baz would always rise to the occasion.

Which was why he laughed when Dr. Agatha asked how long they have been together. On the one hand, they never were together. There was never a relationship to speak of. But on the other, Baz had built up a collection of memories and thoughts of the many little things that made Snow…Snow.

He knew when Snow was in a good mood (which meant an immediate need to crush it), or when he was mad about something to do with his grades (which meant strategic mocking, but never before an exam so he doesn’t get too frazzled), or when teenage drama caught up to Snow and he had to deal with his love life (which meant exiting the room because it hurt to watch him with someone else.) His years at school were spent pursuing academic excellence and alternating between wanting to punch Snow and kiss him senseless.

Baz was well aware he was disturbed.

He had been so caught up he actually let slip Snow’s real name, which would be incriminating and, frankly, embarrassing. So he beat his host to the punch and lied about there being snow in Hampshire. He wasn’t confident Dr. Agatha bought his lie but if he was bold enough, the less discerning listeners would. And on the off chance that Snow _was_ listening, Baz would bet his spleen that he’d be one of the less discerning ones.

After the ad break ended, Dr. Agatha continued her open questions, happy to let Baz do her whole show for her apparently.

“ _So what made him so special? It seemed no one could quite compare_.”

“It’s all the little things, isn’t it? When you know someone that deeply, their entire being becomes a unique anomaly. His contradictions make sense only because it _is_ him. His quirks and bad habits become singularly identifiable because it _is_ him. I used to think he had the dullest, most common blue eyes,” Baz said, his memory failing as to the exact shade of blue that Snow’s eyes were, “Turns out, even in London, no one quite matched that shade of blue.”

If his teenage self could see him now, he’d be mortified that he was opening up to a complete stranger like this. But teenage Baz didn’t have access to mulled wine throughout Christmas and thought his life was a tragic drama. Teenage Baz didn’t understand the meaning of mellow.

In fact, it was that flair for melodrama that lead him to this mess. He fully appreciated how stupid it all sounded, once he said it out loud, his behaviour toward Snow while they were at school. But looking at the boys he taught, he could see how he, a closeted teenage boy filled to the brim with angst, arrived at his dramatic decision to antagonise Snow to the point of no return. It was easier pretending to hate him than to deal with the idea that he could never be with him.

It didn't stop his traitorous mind from wanting Snow, from making his heart ache when he got together with his first girlfriend, from rejecting other boys that looked his way. But in time, he learned to live with it, and now, a decade on, that feeling of yearning has become a quiet lull in his stomach.

“ _Do you think there’s someone out there you could love as much as you loved Snow?_ ”

“It’s hard to imagine,” Baz sighed, because he’s tried, and he’s learnt that what he felt for Snow would not be replicated. Not because it was some great love that got away from him, but it was his _first_ love. It was the biggest thing he’s felt at the moment in time. But in theory, there could be, someone that wasn’t Snow, that he could love as much, but differently.

But it was hard to imagine.

“ _How did you know it was love?_ ”

The million dollar question, the premise of this show. Baz rolled his eyes and wondered how long Dr. Agatha waited to ask that. For what it’s worth, he hoped he proved to someone listening that love could be real, albeit, messed up.

“You just know. From the moment I shook his hand. The first time I touched him...I knew. It was like…” he searched his mind for the right word, and it was uncharacteristically whimsical and tender, “Magic.”

Thinking he was done, he was surprised when Dr. Agatha asked what he was going to do now.

Baz thought about the last night he stayed in their room at school, how he stayed up and watched Snow sleep (just a little bit, and it was his last night, to Hell with being caught). He knew that this was the last time he’d get to wake up in the same room as Snow, he was due for London and Snow was due for Manchester. He willed himself to remember what he looked like sleeping, how much of a mouth breather Snow was, and how, after that night, he wouldn’t have Snow to remind him to wake up in the morning. Remind him to breathe and steel himself for a day orbiting around him.

“Well. Wellbelove. I’m going to get out of bed every morning…breathe in and out all day long.”

“And then, after a while, I won’t have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out. And then…” he sighed once more, putting a lid back on those memories, “I won’t have to think about how I woke up gazing at perfection every day, at least for a little while.”

The call ended soon after and Baz barely registered Dr. Agatha signing off for him. And just like that, the call was over. Baz only planned to humour Mordelia, and the doctor, for a bit before saying something invariably rude and hang up, but the more she probed, the more Baz felt like he could open up. Evidently, keeping things bottled up for years and years meant that he had a lot to say, especially to someone willing to listen.

Well, willing was a strong word, he had no doubt Dr. Agatha only kept prodding because the narrative was probably the most exciting thing the show’s heard of in years. He didn’t intend to reveal so much, let alone use Snow’s actual name, but it just came out, like the rest of feelings. And now he was emotionally drained and glaring at Mordelia, who had no right to look as smug and as pitying as she was.

“I hope you’re amused,” he said, dropping the phone and throwing his head back, letting the sofa consume him. Honestly, if anyone asked, he couldn't explain why he had said so much. One moment he was congratulating Dev for getting his shit together and introducing Niall to the family, then suddenly Mordelia shoved a phone into his face.

“I am Baz, I am,” Mordelia said, resting her head on his shoulder, yawning slightly, “But really, Chaz?”

He didn’t dignify her with a response, just continued sipping on his glass of wine.

If Baz looked into it a bit deeper, he could acknowledge that Dev and Niall was what brought on this evening’s melancholy. Of course he was happy for them, and Baz wasn’t the type to think he couldn’t possibly be happy without a man in his life. For the most part, he was happy.

He managed to follow his mother’s footsteps and became a teacher, at a private school, teaching English. Granted the kids wind him up on some days, but all in all, it was fulfilling, it made him happy. He had his friends, though few in number, they were enough. And when he needed a reality check he had his aunt, Fiona. He even had his own flat in London. So all in all, there was nothing missing in his life.

But for a time, a short time, the missing piece in his life was Simon Snow Salisbury.

Was he lonely? Sometimes. But not always. That didn’t mean he wasn’t happy.

Mordelia had dozed off, which meant there were no more questions to answer, and he didn’t need to convince her that everything he had said was just revisiting an old crush, a romanticised, rose-tinted memory.

 _I’ve convinced myself that that was what it was. And I don’t need her trying to poke holes in my logic_.

Carefully shifting out underneath Mordelia, he made his way out the living room into the garden, hoping the cold winter air and a cigarette would re-centre him and clear his mind. As calm as he believed he was, revealing so much to the void to anyone that was listening left him a bit exposed and raw. Vulnerable.

Catharsis aside, he had kept the topic of Snow tucked away, very neatly, next to the box of his mother’s passing. He’s dealt with, grown up with it, and now they sit at the back of his mind collecting dust and taking up space.

Baz huddled closer into himself, trying to gather more warmth as he smoked. He could feel the familiar burn at the back of his throat, and the nicotine slowly seeping into him. Unfortunately, staring off into the darkness that was their garden only made him more pensive.

In that last decade, he’s tried getting over Snow, and for the most part, it’s been successful. But that lull persisted, and as the years went on, the Snow he knew and the Snow he’s constructed in his mind, probably became different people.

And that was the problem, no matter how hard he tried, Baz would compare his dates and his boyfriends, _actual people_ , to the idea of Snow. Somehow, that _idea_ of him always wins, and this was coming from the mind of someone who had made it their mission to highlight every single one of Snow’s flaws. Baz knew them, intimately, yet he loved him and his entire being.

Baz was also quite confident that Snow would probably never hear about the broadcast. And even if he did, he hoped that the flimsy fake names would hold up against scrutiny. Snow was stubborn with a fine mind if he looked into it, but he also easily missed the most obvious things. And assuming, like Baz, Snow’s had no development since their days at school then Baz would be fine.

However, the year was coming to an end, and maybe the next year would be different. Maybe all he really needed to do was excise the ghost that was Simon Snow Salisbury from his mind, and this was some divine intervention to give him anonymity and the chance to finally let it rest.

Finishing his cigarette, he quickly ducked back into the house, and giving Mordelia a rough shake before making his way to bed, ignoring her shouting and groaning.

* * *

If Baz thought that his little confession was one to the void, one that would be forgotten in the airwaves, he was wrong. _So wrong_. It’s been two weeks since Christmas, and somehow everyone had heard it. Articles were written about it, think pieces on whether he was disturbed or bitterly romantic were done. It was also all the staff room at school could talk about since school started.

“Did you hear that programme about Love with that Dr. Agatha?”

“Oh you mean with Lonely in London? Of course. Even my Year 7s did, and kids don’t listen to radio.”

“Yes! God it was beautiful. I think I cried.”

“I read about it, and honestly? Kinda weird. Like this guy spent a decade, a full ten years, missing this other guy that he treated awfully. That’s kinda fucked.”

“That’s because you’ve never fallen in love with a straight person. It hurts. You done with the microwave? Thanks,” Niall said.

“Yeah because you have no chance with them. And Lonely? He shared a room with him for like, years.”

“I read somewhere that it should only take you half the time you’re in love with someone to get over them.”

“Feelings don’t have a half life. Can you pass me a tea bag?”

“Baz, did you hear about it?”

Niall and the rest of the other teachers turned to look at Baz, his bowl of soup in hand. He could see Niall’s casual smile falter as he made the connection, and Baz’s heart started racing, but all Niall said was “By the way, I’m done with the microwave, if you need it.”

 _Good man_.

Baz never gave himself away, feigning ignorance at first, then finally participating in conversation as the broadcast did its round on the Internet. According to the BBC, The Guardian and The Telegraph, BBC Radio 1 received over two thousand phone calls on Christmas Day after the broadcast went live. He would admit that he was slightly worried that the real Snow would somehow come across it, but he was banking on him not being able to connect the dots.

The closest he came to being discovered was during class. They were covering _Oliver Twist_ , and Baz was reading out passages from the book, and one of his brighter students raised their hands after Baz had finished reading a passage.

“Sir, are you Lonely in London?” He raised his eyebrows in response, encouraging him to continue. Baz knew that he if he tried to shut down the line of inquiry, it’d just set their imaginations running. “Just the way you said ‘Snow’ sounded awfully like he did.”

“Pip, thank you for thinking I’m capable of such humanity,” he said with a small smile, “I know you all call me a vampire behind my back.”

Pip looked embarrassed, and the rest of the class tensed.

 _Oh children. You have so much to learn_.

“But no, I am not Lonely In London. Or anywhere. Thank you for your concern,” he said, sitting back on his desk, “And thank you for volunteering to read the next chapter Pip.”

Unlike most students, Pip Bunce preened at being recognised for being smart. It was trait that Baz recognised from his own days at school and he encouraged it in his own classes. One should not be made to feel lesser for trying, and definitely not penalised for being intelligent. So Pip cleared his throat and began to read.

Baz had a terrifying thought.

_If one Bunce could figure it out. The other Bunce can too. Which means Snow can as well. He’s obtuse, not stupid._

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Tumblr: http://banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	4. CHAPTER 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting words to a page is hard. Putting words out there is even harder.
> 
> And for Simon, putting into words the web that was him and Baz, there would never be enough words.
> 
> But damn is he going to try and write to Lonely.

**SIMON**

New Years Eve came and went. Just a little house party back in his flat with Penny – a bit too much shouting with Gareth and Keris, and a bit too much drinking with Rhys and Trixie. And definitely not enough cleaning up on his part afterwards. Simon knew Penny would’ve put up more of a fight if she also fending off a terrible hangover like he was.

But nonetheless, they pulled through, and a week on, everyone was back at work. And to lean into the New Years Resolution fever that always happens in January, the bakery has put front and centre, the healthiest offerings they have. Simon was of the firm belief that butter made everything better, but he respected everyone trying to turn their life around…if only for a month.

He was actually the one to suggest it to Ebb, after hearing her comment that the store always saw a slight slump after Christmas because of everyone going on a health kick. From that suggestion onwards, Ebb’s encouraged him to try more things, take more ownership and responsibilities, and now almost a decade on, she’s started handing the reigns over to him. Right before the holidays she even said “This bakery is not just mine now”.

Simon knew he put in time and effort into the bakery, but he had always just felt that was his job and he needed to do it well, no matter the pay. He had stumbled into the job during university as a means for some extra cash. Ebb was flexible with the shifts she gave him, always reminding him that it was alright to take time off during exam seasons, forgiving his tardiness if there was a coursework deadline round the corner. So he worked harder, gave more of his time to the bakery and continued on after gradation.

Honestly, he didn’t think he’d become a full time baker, but over the years he’s grown attached to the eclectic collection of coffee mugs, comforted by the cosiness Ebb has fostered in the bakery and the camaraderie they’ve built, together, with the customers. The slighted faded hunter green walls and random assortment of goat memorabilia that littered the shop was a security blanket, a safe harbour for him when graduation and graduate schemes loomed over him.

And now Ebb was telling him the bakery belonged to _them_.

That said, the way that Ebb worked, and by extension Simon, meant there was never really a line between employer and employees. Trixie and Keris joined when Simon was in second year at university. There was a modicum of deference to Simon and Ebb, but that soon disappeared when it became clear that both of them felt uncomfortable with being in charge, as it were. So Trixie was allowed to avoid taking out the trash, and Keris had no qualms ordering in the highest quality of napkins and kitchen roll without getting clearance from either Ebb or Simon.

Then again, the napkins thing was probably for Ebb’s habit of getting a bit teary eyed at any and everything. She had actually advocated for them to have a good cry every once in a while, be it with a sad movie or just collecting memories and organising to let your body have that release. Trixie and Simon thanked her for it, and though Keris would never admit it, when Trixie asked her out, Simon could swear he heard sniffles.

It was a small bakery, a small life and he was happy with everyone he had in it.

Simon was busy working on the afternoon batch of scones (plus an extra dozen because he deserves to enjoy the fruits of his labour) and only passively listening to Trixie and Keris catch up Ebb on their Christmases when the topic of Lonely in London came up.

He chimed in casually, “I was listening to that actually, like, the live broadcast. I was driving down to Penny’s and…”

“I think it’s quite romantic, in that, long-suffering pining kind of way,” Trixie said, taking a peek at the bins and looking visibly relieved.

“I think it’s sad,” Keris said, “Not that he’s pathetic, but, pining after straight people _sucks_.”

“Did you hear, apparently, BBC got almost two thousand calls about Lonely.”

“What? To complain?” Simon said, almost defensively. An image of Baz laying into these callers flashed across his mind.

“Shockingly, no,” Trixie said with a smile, “They were all after Lonely’s phone number.”

_Well they can fuck right off._

_Where did that come from?_

“Even I heard about this,” Ebb added, straightening up one of the paintings (of more goats) hanging above the till, “I heard from the lady we order our coffee beans from that her nephew wrote a letter to Lonely. Even I want to write one.”

“Saying what? You’re not Snow,” Simon said, brows slightly furrowed and staring at his colleagues.

“No not to…I just want to tell him, if it matters, that what he did was quite brave and I wish him well,” she said, “As romantic as it all sounds, I could imagine it wasn’t easy, feeling all that.”

Keris didn’t look up from her phone before holding up a box of Kleenex in Ebb’s general direction and Simon couldn’t help but grin. It also made him think that throughout that entire broadcast, he didn’t really think about how it must’ve felt for Lonely to actually live through that. It must’ve been exhausting to keep up that façade at all times, it takes so much energy to stay angry at someone, let alone use that anger as a front.

Simon remembers one of the most civil conversations he’s ever had with Baz, it was their final year. UCAS had been bombarding them with university decisions all month, and Simon was exhausted by the little heart attacks he’d get every time an email came through. He had returned to his room, eager to be alone to check if he’s been accepted into the University of Manchester, only to walk in on Baz lying on his bed, phone to his side, and UCAS’s obnoxious logo on the screen.

He doesn’t remember who started talking first, but he does remember that Baz said he was tired. Simon assumed he meant with university acceptances, because that was what consumed his mind. Simon grunted in agreement and simply asked Baz “Good news or bad?”

“Good.”

“Congrats.”

And frankly, that was the energy both of them spared each other for the rest of the year. Both kept their distance, merely counting the days until graduation. Simon was excited about moving up North, and he thought Baz was just happy that the end was in sight and soon he’d be free of Simon.

Lonely in London barely came up the rest of the day, except for the few chatty customers who came in, and the small cluster of teens that hung out in the bakery after school. But Simon kept revisiting what Ebb said, and that little admission from Baz that he was tired. He was fully aware of him projecting, or wanting something to be there. He wasn’t sure why he wanted it to be so, but he couldn’t stop humouring himself.

That night, Simon made a decision, he was going to write to Lonely.

* * *

Simon had two main trains of thought as he jogged home:

  1. Lonely was probably inundated with letters, so it’s not like he’s likely to read Simon’s.
  2. If Lonely was Baz, and does read his letter, then…really, it’s more embarrassing for him than it is for Simon.



He quickly toed off his trainers and made his way to the living room, hunting for some presentable paper and a pen that wasn't commandeered by Penny. So focused on his hunt, Simon almost missed her, sprawled out on their sofa, watching some old movie, a small pile of manuscripts by her side. Penny was a junior editor at some publishing house, and more often that not, she gets tasked with stuff from the slosh pile or something. Penny has opinions, and Simon’s pretty sure nothing thrills her more than taking a red pen to someone’s writing.

“Hey Pen, mind if I borrowed a pen?” Simon said leaning over the console table propped up behind the sofa. She fished around for one and handed one up to him without taking her eye off the page, “Thanks.”

“What’s this for?” she asked, looking up to see Simon digging around the living room for some paper that wasn’t doodled on, drawn on or a torn off as a make-shift post-it note. “Simon!” Penny called out, holding up a several pieces of lined paper.

He grinned at her and took it off her hands, without offering an explanation. Simon was hoping to get away with it, but, of course, Penny wouldn’t just let things go. “Simon, is this another fever dream recipe you’ve come up with?”

“Nope,” he said, “I’m writing a letter.” He was waggling his brows and Penny just looked more confused. “Did you hear about Lonely in London?”

“Yes. They were talking about it at work earlier today, and some of the editors and agents were trying to see if they could jump on the hype with books we have in the slush pile…hence,” Penny gestured to the sofa.

“Yeah, well,” Simon said, his hand found its way up to the back of his neck as he felt a small blush creeping up his face, “Don’t you think, Lonely. If you’ve heard it, um. Don’t you think it kinda sounded like Baz?”

Penny blinked at him, as if she short-circuited and her brain was catching up to what Simon had just said, “Baz…as in, Baz Pitch?”

“Yeah.”

Penny had a look on her face, and it was one he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was the one she wore when they were at school together and Simon was chatting shit about Baz. It warmed his heart slightly that somethings don’t change. “You’re suggesting that, Baz Pitch, who hated your existence, was secretly in love with you, and confessed it to the world, on a radio show.”

“Well when you put it like that – ”

“And…you’re going to write him a letter about it,” Penny said, “No judgment, really. I think the absence of Baz as a topic in the last five years means you’ve earned…this.” Simon squinted his eyes at her, wondering if she was being serious or taking the piss out of him.

“I’m just saying. Y’know…” he was trying to explain how his mind connected the dots, dots that might not even be there, “Look, the way he said Snow, Lonely, I mean. Sounded exactly like how Baz used to say it. I listened to him for seven years of my life. I’ll remember it probably until the day I die.”

Penny held up her hands in surrender and just turned back to the sofa, “If you…if you want me to look over it after you’re done, let me know.”

Simon was surprised that Penny didn’t try to discourage him more, but, in the seven years he was dealing with Baz’s bullshit, Penny dealt with his, and everyone comes up with ways of dealing with their friends.

“Dear Lonely and Mordy, I have never written something like this before…” Simon mumbled as he scribbled down onto the page.

“Simon, everyone’s going to open with that line.”

“Yeah well…I’ll convince them in the body.”

Penny just chuckled, turning back to the movie she was watching before suddenly turning around excitedly, “Oh Simon, I completely forgot to ask. Are you free mid-February, the week before Valentine’s Day weekend?”

“Are you setting me up, because…no thanks?”

“Ha ha. That was one bad date…and not the point,” she said, getting up from the sofa and sitting across the dining table where Simon had set up, “The company is doing this conference thing in New York, and I was planning on going there a couple of days early, was wondering if you wanted to come with? Party and everything on Valentine’s Day, on the company’s money.”

“I don’t know Pen,” he said, “Valentine’s Day is kinda a big day for the bakery, the week is usually pretty hectic.”

“Please? You barely take any time off. I know baking makes you happy, but you need time to unwind.”

“I did! Over Christmas, you were there!”

“Just thought it’d be fun, you’ve never been to America and, let’s face it, you’re never relaxed around Mum,” she said with a soft smile, “I know you know that Mum only warmed up to you after the Christmas Pudding Incident and you saved the day.”

He didn’t really have anything to say to that, mostly because it was true, and the idea of going to New York was tempting, but he had to put the bakery first. “I’ll talk about it with Ebb, no promises though.”

“Great. Do let me know, I can look into flights, plan, all that jazz,” she said, “How’s the letter going?”

Simon shrugged, looking down at the wall of words, all ramblings, “I don’t really know to be honest. I don’t actually know why I want to write.” Penny suddenly turned around looked back at the TV, and chuckled to herself. “What.”

“Oh nothing, I mean,” she said, “This is all kind of insane, isn’t it? I was just thinking that, since we’re going to New York, maybe you should say you’ll meet him on top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day.”

“What?”

“It’s from this,” Penny said, pointing at the TV, “ _An Affair To Remember_. There’s this whole plot about meeting on top of the building.”

“Why would I ask to meet him across the Atlantic when he, allegedly, lives in London?”

“Because it’s insane, and romantic. And, if it is Baz, the kind of drama he’d probably love,” Penny said. Simon knew she was joking, but he was also aware that Lonely might not even read the letter. And maybe this is what he’d need to stand out. Frankly, even if it wasn’t Baz, Lonely seemed like a decent enough guy who might be what Simon wants.

He was chewing on his pen, and Penny knew to leave him to alone while he stewed in his thoughts. Simon knew the longer he dwelled on it, the more troubled he’d be so he just took the pen to the page and scribbled down being happy to meet him in New York on Valentine’s Day, or if not, happy to meet him when he’s back in the country.

Jotting down a few more lines, pleasantries and making it blatantly obvious he thought Lonely was Baz, Simon leaned back and took a breather. Penny once said to him at school that once he finished writing anything, he should sit back, pause and then take another look. Something about fresh eyes. Whilst Penny (and Baz) were careful writers, meticulously combing over their work and essays, Simon’s style was just wrote and a mad dash for corrections closer to the deadline. But with a handwritten letter, he didn't’ have the luxury of editing.

Which was why he was left with a somewhat messy, disjointed, but honest, letter to some stranger he heard talk for an hour two weeks ago. Simon could already here the mocking from Baz if he actually read this, to which he’d argue that he might no be eloquent, he might be shit with his words, but at least they were raw and unfiltered, unlike Baz’s words. Wrapped up in pedigree, tutors and flowery nonsense.

That initial enthusiasm was waning. Penny was right, this was insanity, and it might be romantic to others, but wasn’t it just Simon projecting some unresolved feelings he didn’t know he had? Or was it just one of those weird things his mind does, where he becomes hyper-focused on one thing until something else comes along.

_Maybe I shouldn’t send this. Baz hates me. I hate Baz. There’s no reason to rehash all this._

“Simon. I know that look. Talk to me,” Penny’s voice cut through the fight he was having with Baz in his head.

He shrugged in response, but Penny pushed on by raising an eyebrow, “I don’t know. It doesn’t look…right.”

“What doesn’t?” she asked, putting down her manuscript. Simon held up the letter and waved it around in the air. “You’re…you’re scared, aren’t you?”

He hated how she saw right through him. “Not scared…well, I am scared, but. I know the worse thing that could happen is that he won’t read it. And even if he did, it’d be more embarrassing for him than it is for me.”

“Simon. Do you actually want to write to Lonely, or do you want to write to Baz?”

“Look Pen, I _know_ it’s him. And hell, even if it wasn’t, then, so what.”

“Exactly. You won’t know until you send it.”

“Didn’t you say this was insanity?”

“I mean, it is,” she said flatly, “but – ”

_Oh fuck it._

Simon scrunches up the letter and puts it into the pile of scrap paper amongst Penny’s many notes and stalked off to bed. Just like how Lonely probably didn’t expect anyone to hear him, Simon got his thoughts and feelings out, manifested them to words on a page. That should be enough. If anything, the fact the thought of Baz’s response to all this was ridicule and Simon already had a retort ready probably meant that it was for the best that this all blew over.

In fact, there was nothing to blow over, it was just him and his overactive imagination whenever it came to Baz. He tried to go to bed, and follow Penny’s advice of stepping away from it all and revisiting it later. But his mind wouldn’t calm down.

He knew that Lonely used a fake name, to probably protect himself. Baz was always the cagey type. Avoiding meal times and always up to something. Though, they were mostly pranks to embarrass Simon.

Tossing and turning for what felt like hours, he defaulted to making lists in his head. His own version of counting sheep. He made a list of what he couldn’t think about which consisted of Baz and Lonely. And a list of what he could think about, a long list of potential Valentine’s Day cakes and treats and how best to get Ebb to agree to his request for leave.

* * *

It took days before Simon even remembered the letter, and when he went to dig it out from the pile of scrap paper, he saw the entire stack was gone.

It was probably a sign from above that those words remain unsaid, unsent and remain in some limbo alongside Simon’s memories of Baz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	5. CHAPTER 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Baz thought would've been a quiet weekend in ended up with two of the most infuriating women on the planet outside his door.
> 
> If he didn't know what the consequences of ignoring them would be, he'd have no qualms about slamming the door shut. 
> 
> But he knew better than that.
> 
> And Mordelia had letters.

**BAZ**

It was the weekend. There were only two more weeks until February half term. Baz could afford to take the weekend slowly, his lesson plans were done, laundry was done, and he just got a text from UberEats with a discount code. Baz had planned for the weekend to be quiet, just him, a takeaway and maybe a book.

The moment he opened the door and saw Fiona and Mordelia he knew his plans were out the window. Fiona looked amused, and Mordelia had a grin on her face, the worse combination of all. If he didn’t love the two of them as much as he did, and know the consequences of ignoring them, he’d just close the door and get on with his day.

“What are you two doing invading my home?” Baz said as he reluctantly stepped aside to let them.

“Mordelia needed a lift from the station, and I wasn’t going to miss this,” Fiona said. Baz didn’t like the glint in her eyes, or where this was heading. Fiona just motioned to Mordelia, who had unceremoniously emptied out her bag all over the sofa.

“Miss what?” Baz squinted slightly and saw that the pile on his sofa was made up of letters, hundreds and hundreds of letters.

 _This can’t be happening_.

“They’re all for you Baz,” Mordelia said gleefully, “Well, Lonely, but we all know you’re Lonely.” Baz wanted to wipe that stupid grin off her face, as if she thought she was being funny. He knew there was a reason why she got along with Fiona despite them not being related and her distaste for almost every child she’s seen grow up in Pitch Manor.

It was meant to be a one-time thing, a single phone call. Humour Mordelia and that’d be it. Baz acknowledged he may have gone a bit off script by actually revealing how he felt, but he didn’t want this to haunt him. Talk of it at school just about died down, and Niall only asked about it once.

He didn’t want to be dealing with Lonely in London or whoever these people thought they were. None of them would be Snow anyway, just people who were overwhelmed by the tragedy and drama of it all and felt like they had to reach out. But nevermind how he felt, standing there, tea in hand, because Mordelia had already made herself comfortable, sifting through the mountain of letters.

“How did they even get your address?” Baz asked, irritated at the two of them.

“They ask when you call the show. There were emails as well, but I told them to delete them all,” Mordelia said, eyes glued to a letter, “I assumed you’d appreciate a more old fashioned approach.”

“You into twinks?” Fiona said, waving a picture at Baz, “A picture speaks a thousand words, and this guy included three.” He found it abhorrent that the two of them were enjoying it as much as they were.

“For the record Fiona…it depends,” he said quickly, “But also…what’s the point? Of all this?”

“Well, even if none of these are Snow, _your_ Snow. This just shows there’s plenty of other fish out there for you!” Mordelia said.

“This is ridiculous,” he sighed, taking a large sip of the tea in his hand, powerless to stop the scene unfolding in front of him. What was still within his power though was whether or not to acknowledge the situation. So, whatever his sister and aunt were up to, he wasn’t going to let them ruin what was supposed to be a quiet day in. Sitting down on an armchair, book in hand, he proceeded to unwind and ignore the conversation between Mordelia and Fiona.

This strategy worked for the most part, from what he understood, the plan was to put aside letters they liked, and judging from their pile of discards, they’ve rejected every single person who’s written in. Evidently no one that had written in so far was worth the hassle of informing Baz about it.

 _Good_.

He knew Fiona was getting bored, she was bouncing her knee faster and getting more bored with each attempt at romance. Without saying anything, Baz just stood up, cigarette to his lips and moved out the balcony, leaving the door open.

_3\. 2. 1._

Fiona followed him out, a rolled cigarette and lighter in her hands.

 _Easy_.

They stood outside in silence, though Fiona did close the balcony door slightly to keep the smoke out of the flat. He was almost finished when Mordelia barged through the door.

“Fi, I found one,” Mordelia said excitedly, “this one feels…correct.”

Fiona turned to Baz with an eyebrow raised, but he was having none of it, “Mordy, just…stop.”

“Baz, just read this one. I genuinely think this might be him,” she was holding out the letter with genuine sincerity.

“Fine,” he huffed, taking the letter from her hands.

_Dear Lonely and Mordy,_

_I’ve never written something like this before. For anyone. Or a letter in general._

Baz was about to yell at Mordelia, but she urged him to continue.

 _So I don’t quite know how to start all of this. How about something about me. I guess?I like scones. And I work at a bakery_.

This idiot just continued on for half a page about baked goods, him thinking football players are fit, and how he understood the perils of having a nightmare roommate.

“Really? This guy? Out of everything you read?” he said, following Fiona back inside and promptly tossing the letter away.

“You said so yourself, it felt like magic. This letter,” Mordelia scrambled to find it, “felt like magic.”

“I was drunk when I said that. Rambling and drunk. I can’t be accountable for the feelings in divulge,” he said defensively. His eyes darted toward Fiona who was staying uncharacteristically quiet. Evidently she really was just here for the show.

“He said he wanted to meet us in New York, over half term,” she said, “Meet him on top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day. We could go Baz!”

Baz frowned at where this was going, and was surprised Mordelia was the one suggesting such stupidity, “Mordy. What sane man, who presumably lives somewhere in _this_ country, would suggest meeting me, another person _also_ living in this country, to fly _across to Atlantic_ to meet him?”

“So, like the movie?” Fiona suddenly said, snorting to herself.

“What movie?” Mordelia asked.

“Oh you won’t know it. It’s _old_ , even by my standards,” she said.

“She’s talking about _An Affair to Remember_ ,” Baz supplied, annoyed at Fiona for trying to draw parallels with classic Hollywood magic with this farce, “Either way, we’re not going to New York …even if we have time to go on holiday. Because that would be insane.”

“It’s not like you have plans then Baz.”

Baz was affronted, albeit impressed with Mordelia’s confidence, “I could have plans, you don’t know that. Plans that don’t include a trans-Atlantic flight and jet lag.”

“But he signed his name as Snow!”

“They all would! That’s literally what I called him!”

Baz stalked back out to the balcony, refusing to let Mordelia’s nonsense get to him more than it already has. He hated that part of him that immediately imagined what’d it be like for him and Snow meeting for the first time in decades atop the Empire State Building. At least he was self-aware enough that it was just fantasy. The more grounded parts of him knew there was no reason for him to fly to New York. Given the likelihood that it wasn’t Snow, he’d be flying to meet some stranger who apparently took a liking to his voice. He wasn’t sure if that was what romance was meant to look like, or that the country was on some turkey-induced mania. He was quietly seething, and he had no doubt Mordelia was throwing a fit inside, so he was surprised that Fiona decided to deal with him, the mature adult, first.

“She’s just going through a phase. It’s easier to focus on your problems than deal with her own,” Fiona said, rolling another cigarette.

“Is everything alright?” Baz asked immediately, the annoyance he felt giving way to concern.

“Yes, everything is fine. Just your usual teenage rebellion,” she chuckled, “You remember being fourteen? It’s easier to talk about other people than look inward.”

“Yes, I remember fourteen distinctly,” he groaned, “Snow fell down a flight of stairs and tried to say I pushed him.”

“You sure you didn’t push him?”

He rolled his eyes, “I tried to push him _away_ , metaphorically. Not cause actual bodily harm. He just fell while we were having a shouting match.”

“See? Easier to annoy others than look inward,” Fiona said. She had no right to act all wise and sage-like, and she definitely didn’t have a right to have a point. Maybe he did need to sit her down to tell her he’s fine, unequivocally, and probably do some prying into her life. 

Fiona just gave him a look and pushed the balcony door open, ushering him inside, as if to tell him to make peace with Mordelia. Stepping back in, he saw her sitting on the sofa, the letters cleared away, and her arms folded. She was staring into the TV, but he could tell she was just quietly waiting for him to make the first move.

 _If I didn’t love you as much as I do, I’d never let you get away with it_.

“When’s your train back home for?” he asked, trying his best to tamp down how annoyed he was at her.

“Tomorrow, around noon.” He could tell she was trying to be civil as well.

_I’m glad Father’s policy of never apologise and to just ignore the issue is being passed down…yet again._

“You staying here tonight then?” when she didn’t reply, Baz simply sat down next to her and opened up his UberEats and tossed it to her, “I have a discount code.”

Mordelia slowly picked up the phone and started browsing, “What you feeling like?”

Baz offered a small, tentative, smile, “I was thinking a curry.”

She gave him an approving hum and already started looking up for her favourite takeaway place. Baz caught Fiona trying to sneak out of his flat without saying anything, but he just nodded at her and let her go on her merry way. He made a mental note that she didn’t encourage Mordelia, but that she also didn’t dismiss her like how Baz did.

How he and Fiona ended up being the ones to coach Mordelia on how to function like a living breathing human being was beyond him. He knew Daphne and his father had their hands full with the younger children, but damn teenagers were awful to navigate.

* * *

As much as he trusted his relationship with Mordelia, Baz wasn’t dumb enough to jump right in after their little tiff and start talking about heavy things. He waited for the delivery to come, the samosas finished off and half-way through their tikka masala before broaching the topic.

“You know I’m happy right?” he said carefully, “I don’t…need someone, in my life, to be happy.”

“I know you don’t _need_ someone,” she replied, taking a sip of her water, “But don’t you…I don’t know, _want_ , someone that _could_ make you happy?”

Baz leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth, he wasn’t sure if it was the chair making him uncomfortable or this conversation, “Romance isn’t easy. You want me to fall in love in a movie, not actually fall in love.”

She just shrugged and Baz wanted to tell her that wasn’t a response but he moved on to ask what was truly bothering him, “Is everything alright, with you.”

Mordelia blinked at him, spoon half-way up to her mouth. Baz wasn’t surprised, they rarely, if ever, talk about their feelings this openly. The Grimms made it a point to maintain appearances, even in the comforts of their own home – it was practically taboo to be visibly emoting, but Mordelia brought this onto herself by sticking her nose into Baz’s love life.

“Everything’s…fine?” Mordelia said, sounding more like a question than answer, “Yes, everything is fine. This isn’t some weird projection thing.”

“You just seem awfully invested, that’s all.”

“Baz, I’m telling you I’m fine,” she reassured, “No boy troubles, and no girl troubles, either. If that’s what you’re wondering.”

_Oh._

Baz would admit he had considered briefly the possibility that this was all caused by some unresolved angst, but given how open Mordelia was to him about potentially having girl trouble as well as boy trouble…he was less worried now. He only thought about it because he remembered coming to terms with being queer himself, and given the object of his affections that was a dumpster fire of a year.

But he made it through, and it seemed that if Mordelia was going through the same thing, she wasn’t nearly as worked up about as he was.

“And that’s it?” Baz asked, “If it is girl trouble, I can point you to someone who actually has to deal with women.”

Mordelia leant forward, rolling her eyes, her long black hair almost touching her food, “I’m invested because you’re my brother. And our family _looks_ unhappy enough as is. We don’t _actually_ need to be unhappy.”

“Do you think it’s a Grimm thing?” he asked, pointing to his slightly downturned lips.

“Oh definitely. If you look at Fiona, she actually has lips. Father doesn’t, and frankly, neither do you.”

“I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow and no one will miss you.”

“Love you too,” she said with a grin.

* * *

That night, after sorting out Mordelia on the sofa, Baz retreated to his room. The day ran away from him, and only now was he getting some alone time. The book he had out was long abandoned, and now he was just scrolling around on the Internet.

Ultimately, climbing under his sheets, he fired up _An Affair To Remember_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	6. CHAPTER 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon discovers the Internet, and along the way, he discovers an inconvenient truth.
> 
> Truth as he sees it anyway.

**SIMON**

Ebb was surprisingly happy to let Simon take time off the week before Valentine’s Day. He stuttered and fumbled around his words, and by the time he actually got it out, he was already backing out of it. He knew Ebb wouldn’t be mad at him for asking, but he felt a responsibility to stick around during one of the busier times of the bakery.

Imagine his surprise when she agreed right away. He still felt unsure and said as much, but she pointed out “It’s honestly fine. The bakery won’t fall apart without you for a week. Go and have fun!” By then, even Trixie and Keris were tired of his waffling and told him to stuff it.

“Do you guys, uh, want me to bring anything back?” he asked.

Whilst Keris and Ebb quietly thought about what they wanted, Trixie jumped right in, “Recon. Scope out Magnolia Bakery.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re famous,” Trixie said, “their desserts look as good as they taste, if not better.”

“You got something to say about my buns Trixie?” Simon said.

Keris snorted and Ebb just gave him a pat on the shoulder when he glared at her, “No…nothing wrong with your buns,” Trixie said carefully, “They taste great too! But we should work on making food for Instagram.”

“Who cares about Instagram if the food tastes good?”

“It’s called _marketing_ Simon,” Trixie said, “Social media and all that. Might help us branch out further. Plus, you get to try a bunch of pastries, take some photos.”

Simon understood what Trixie was saying, but he just didn’t feel like they needed to. They always let their food speak for them, and they get more than enough every month to be comfortable. But then Keris pointed something out to him, “Hey, do you think anyone’s managed to find Lonely online?”

Simon was about to point out that Lonely made it a point to obscure his identity, to the point that no one can actually determine if it’s him, but a thought occurred to him. Others might not have an idea who Lonely is, but Simon believes it to be Baz, an actual person he could hunt for on social media. The conversation between the others in the bakery quickly faded into the background as Simon dug out his phone and started hunting down Baz on his social media. While _they_ might not be friends, surely, through a network of mutual friends from school he’d find something.

* * *

_Baz Pitch. Bas Pitch. Basilton Pitch. Grimm-Pitch. Tyrannus Pitch._

Over the course of the day, Simon searched for every variation of Baz’s name he could imagine on Facebook and Instagram, but alas, with no results. It was as if Baz existed only in his memory, there was no trace of him online. All he was able to find was an old article on him winning a national violin competition back in school. He vividly remembered the run up to the competition, because Baz was stressed enough about it to actually practice in their room – and their en suite – regardless of time and with no consideration for the fact that Simon needed sleep, even if Baz didn’t.

And now it was the end of the day – what seemed like a stroke of genius on his part has now proven to be a fruitless endeavour. Swallowing down the pang of disappointment welling up in him, he went about closing the bakery for the day, divvying the leftovers of the day between him, Trixie and Keris. He always had first pick of the scones and stuffed croissants, Trixie the cakes and Keris the variation of brownie bars they had. As he was setting aside what would inevitably be Penny’s breakfast for the next couple of days, Penny herself strolled into the bakery. It wasn’t often she’d finish work as Simon was closing up shop, but whenever she did, she would always come by and pick Simon up. It also meant her picking up a few extra bagels and somehow making dinner out of that.

“Hey Simon. Trixie…Keris,” Penny said as she perused over the box Simon set aside for her. She was making small talk with Keris and side-eying Trixie’s selection of basically everything with sprinkles on it when Simon realised something.

_Why ask the Internet when I could just ask Penny? She must know if Baz is online – and how to find him._

“Hey Pen, saved you what I could for breakfast tomorrow,” he said closing up the boxes and locking up the till, “I have a question.”

Penny was giving him a look, one that told him she was both intrigued and ready to be extremely surprised by. He often thought it’d feel less judgmental if it weren’t for the cat-eyed glasses, and wondered if this was what she’s like with the higher-ups at work.

 _Here goes nothing_.

“Do you know if Baz exists online?”

“What?”

“Who’s Baz?” Trixie asked as she dug around Keris’s coat for her gloves. Simon made a mental note to get the girl a pair so Keris didn’t have to complain about cold hands all the time. He also decidedly ignored her question because he didn’t need all of them judging his train of thought.

“I mean, it’d be easier right? To just find him online and…I don’t know, reach out?” he said, “About…you know.”

He could see the pieces lining up in Penny’s mind, and he wished he didn’t know that she was fighting the urge to shake her head at him, “And?”

“Well I couldn’t find him.”

Penny sighed, laughing softly, “Well…yeah. Baz deleted all of his social media after he started his job. _I_ knew because we _were_ friends when Facebook was still a thing people used.”

“What? Why? Is he a spy now or something?” Simon did up his coat and threw on his beanie, sticking his curls to his forehead. He might have tugged it on with a bit more force than usual, but he was just confused as to what job required being invisible online.

“If he was, he wouldn’t tell me now, would he? As far as I know, he’s a teacher now,” Penny said, “And you know how kids can be. I mean, you literally stalked the guy in fifth year.”

“I’m not going to get into that right now,” Simon said, ignoring the questioning look from Trixie and Keris who had stayed for this little show. He flicked off the lights and pushed all of them out, baked goods in tow, sending the two of them on their way before turning back to Penny. “Do you know where he teaches?”

Penny rolled her eyes at him, “Simon…it’s his work place.” And with that stayed silent the entire walk back home. Simon wanted to know, and he guessed that she was probably deciding whether or not she should tell him. He’s been friends with her long enough by now to know which battles to fight. With Penny, sometimes leaving her alone was the best way to get something out of her.

And indeed, this was one of those times. Once they were back in their flat, the boxes from the bakery neatly stacked at the far end of the counter by the toaster, Penny turned to him. She looked reluctant, but for some reason, she was still telling Simon.

“I only know because Pip goes to the school,” Penny said, digging out her phone and typing something, “so please…if you do go…just, behave?”

Simon couldn’t hold back the grin creeping across his face when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulled Penny into a quick hug and she only put up half a fight, before giving him a tight squeeze. Simon wasn’t actually sure why she was being so supportive this time round, because when they were kids, she actively despised Simon for talking about Baz.

“Aren’t you going to actually check what I sent you?” Penny asked, her voice slightly muffled in his shoulder. He quickly let her go and fished out his phone from his trousers and scanned the address.

 _This could be a problem_.

“So he _does_ work in London! No wonder he’s lonely.”

“Simon, you’re forgetting that there are 10 million working there as well.”

Over dinner, Simon informs her about getting time off to go to New York, which resulted in the rest of the evening with Penny sketching out a plan for flights and accommodation, budgets, a list of sights to see.

Simon was happy to let her plan this trip, because he had one of his own to plan. As Penny compared different flight packages and itinerary recommendations, Simon looked up routes down to London.

* * *

It was his day off from work, he’s had two breakfasts and a stupid amount of coffee, but he was finally in London. He thought the three-hour drive down was the hard part, but he clearly underestimated what London traffic was like. Manchester was by no means a small orderly city, with quaint roads, but London was a different beast entirely. The buses think they own the road, the cars think the own the road, black cabs think the own the road – even bloody pedestrians think they own the road. At this rate, Simon resolved to just showing up in front of Baz in one-piece, rather than looking presentable, clean and sharp, which Baz would no doubt be, because he’s _Baz_.

After what seemed like wrestling his way out of the third circle of Hell (or as Londoners call it – Central), he found himself somewhere in Richmond, and there was the school. Double-checking the address Penny sent, sending her a barrage of messages and then ringing her up for good measure, he could confirm that he was in the right place. Though he’s parked across from the school now, and he was sure he was in the right place, he was still nervous to get out of the car.

The first issue being that he was a grown man waiting outside a school, despite not being there for a school run. The second issue being that Baz may not be Lonely, and he may still genuinely despise Simon, and he was about to look like a proper tit. Before his thoughts could consume him, the school bell rang, the kids were done with school. And crucially – so where the teachers.

A third issue immediately became apparent – he had no plan, no means of finding Baz in this school without coming off as insane, incredibly creepy and frankly, embarrassing. But, Simon was a man of action, much to Penny’s dismay most of the time.

_Worst case scenario, I ask for him at the reception. Posh schools must have one of those._

Simon stepped out of his car, his heart was pounding and he could feel how clammy his hands were. Slamming the door shut, he ran through a variety of ways to ask for Baz, from using his name to merely asking for Mr. Pitch, or Mr. Grimm. As he turned around, he realised all of that was for naught because there he was. Baz Pitch, standing by the school gate, watching the students file out of the school.

He was older than Simon remembered him, slightly broader, but just as intense, but now with an unmistakable softness to him that Simon could not have imagined to be capable of. His widow’s peak stood out against his tanned skin, though not as severe as when he used to slick it back in school, which was likely the reason why he looked less like a villain now. Simon was surprised he still kept his hair long, shoulder length, just like he had in school. If he had read Pride and Prejudice instead of just watching the movie, he could see Baz’s students swooning over him as he read Mr. Darcy’s lines. Despite being surrounded by kids, Baz didn’t look nearly as annoyed as Simon expected him to be. After all, Baz was only capable of three emotions – confident, irritated and annoyed.

Simon could feel his legs move on their own, as if there was a magnet pulling him toward Baz. As he got closer, he could make out some more details. He had a pair of glasses sitting in his shirt pocket, his blazer a beautiful shade of navy that bringing out his eyes.

Suddenly, a man with ginger hair joined him, putting his arm around Baz, smiling at him. And to Simon’s surprise, Baz smiled back at him, albeit with less enthusiasm. Simon’s never seen Baz smile at anyone, or let anyone get that close to him without at least a sneer and an insult (and that was when he was playing football and their team won).

His heart was going a mile a minute, and it took a moment for Simon to realise that he had stopped in the middle of the road, trying to make sense of the scene in front of him. Who was this man that Baz was with?

_Is he a boyfriend?_

That was when Baz looked up and saw him, standing in the middle of the road. Baz squinted at him, and started pushing his way through the sea of students, his lanky frame proving a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids eager to get as far from school as quickly as possible. The closer he got, the more confused he looked, his thick brows knotting together like they used to when Simon said something incredible dumb (or incredibly smart).

Baz had stopped just on the edge of where the students were loitering. Stubbornly or otherwise, Simon couldn’t find it in him to close the distance. As if he subconsciously challenging Baz to close the distance.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

Simon had thought so much about what he was going to say to everyone else to get to Baz he didn’t think about what he’d actually say to _Baz_ when he saw him. Honestly, he didn’t think he’d make it this far. With about a thousand questions stuck in his throat, Simon opened his mouth but nothing would come out. He was shocked out of his train of thought when a black cab honked loudly at him, almost running him over. He stumbled backwards, deafened by the honking, and suddenly very self conscious.

_I’m standing in the middle of the road, gaping like a gold fish in front of my childhood nemesis._

_I have to get out of here_.

Simon scrambled to get off the road and back into the safety of his own car, using every fibre of his being to not turn around and look at Baz. But try as he may, as he drove off, he couldn’t help but check his rear-view mirror, and saw that same man with ginger hair drape his arm around Baz’s shoulder, leading him back into the school.

 _I’m such a fucking idiot_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr: banjjakbanjjak.tumblr.com


	7. CHAPTER 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would appear that Baz's confession to the airwaves manifested Snow to appear before him. 
> 
> It had to be a mirage, a figment of his imagination, his own delusion speaking to him.
> 
> And who better to help him figure it out than Dev and Niall?

**BAZ**

_That was Snow. My Snow. Simon Snow Salisbury_. _Outside my school._

Once the initial shocked wore off, Baz had one question.

_Why?_

Baz was almost certain it was Snow. Granted, he didn’t have his glasses on, but he was so familiar with the form of Snow, BAZ was confident it was him. The man had the same mess of bronze curls and the same gait – the one that made him look like he was charging into battle at all times. Despite not having perfect vision, Baz could make out that the man was broader than Snow was at school, and still underdressed for the cold weather, but notably, not in trackies, but in jeans instead. Something that Baz honestly doubted Snow owned while they were at school. He even had Snow’s trademark lack of forethought – the idiot stood in the middle of the road, gaping at him like a gold fish. That said, the only reason why Baz questioned who he saw was because this man actually retreated after the embarrassing blunder instead of charging head on.

Snow would charge head on. Humiliation and all.

Last Baz heard, Snow was up in Manchester or somewhere up north, so he had no reason to be in London. If it were Penelope, he could at least believe she was here to pick up Pip, but Snow? What business did he have at the school, so pressing that he’d risk being run over by a black cab?

If only Niall hadn’t materialised out of nowhere and dragged him away to help him bust some students smoking behind the tool shed, he’d run after him and get confirmation. Baz needed to know if it was actually Snow, and more importantly, why he was here, but also why did he run away. A horrible thought entered his mind – that whatever Snow was here for, he legged it after seeing Baz standing outside. They didn’t exactly part ways on friendly terms (to put it lightly) but Baz thought that the decade between them would’ve done _something_ to dull the drama between them.

Instead, what had happened was that his recent adventure down memory lane managed to manifest Snow (or someone that looked very much like him) into existence in front of him. And all he could say was “Hello.” And that figment of his imagination couldn’t get away from him fast enough. At least the Snow in his memories engaged in some verbal sparring before eventually leaving in a huff.

He did his best to give the students behind the tool shed a good earful about the horrors of smoking (only to have them all roll their eyes at him because…well, Baz wasn’t subtle), but Niall followed up and being the nice teacher he was, they all listened to him and got off without any trouble. Baz knew _he_ couldn’t in good conscience punish the students, but Niall definitely could.

Niall followed him back to his office where he collected up the essays his students had handed in earlier that day. Only on homework days does Baz’s desk look disorganised, and that was mainly because he still insisted on his students printing their essays and submitting hard copies. Mainly because kids were crafty these days and he’s been sent broken files before by some of his students.

“Why do you have so many essays to mark?” Niall asked, evidently having already packed up to leave.

“Because unlike the rest of you monsters, I’m setting my essays before half-term so they could have some time off. And I know the rest of you most likely set assignments for then, I like being prioritised,” Baz said, closing up his briefcase and following Niall out of the school.

“That’s a lot of contempt you have for your colleagues,” Niall said with a smirk, “and yes you are right. They’re getting a presentation this half-term. Best thing is, I don’t even need to mark it.”

“You are the _worst_ , you know that?” Baz said, “Anyway, you coming over to mine now? Or are you going to wait for Dev?”

“Dev’s held up at work so I might just come to yours with you?”

Baz gave him a nod and the two chatted more about half-term and the assignments they’ve heard through the grapevine as they waited for the bus. Baz couldn’t shake the feeling that Snow showed up to find him, and there was something in his stomach telling him it had something to do with what he told Dr. Agatha.

He hoped he was because he was too much of a coward to actually reach out to Snow, and if he knew anything about him, Snow would be the braver one of the two of them to take that first step. He dreaded that feeling of hope that he had.

* * *

It started out as a thing that Dev and Baz did after university, to meet up every month, get a takeaway and complain about the trials of living and working in London. Then Dev started seeing Niall, and Baz found out they were on the same PGCE course. So now it was a thing they did together. It also meant that Baz had a friend when Dev gets a drink in him and starts talking about the intricacies of investment banking in detail.

Thankfully, Dev managed to make it to Baz’s place at a reasonable hour for dinner, armed with three boxes of fish and chips. He even brushed off Baz’s offer to pay, which he wasn’t going to argue given how much more Dev was making than him these days.

Everyone dug into their food, Baz fished out the beers he bought earlier in the week for the two of them, while he poured himself a generous glass of white wine. Dev started going on about something with a deal at work that went sideways and everyone scrambling to find a solution, and Niall was somehow still surprised that Dev talked in millions, whilst they were having meetings over which extracurricular activity deserved coloured paper. 

“By the way, how did your date go?” Dev said before washing down his mouthful of battered cod with his beer.

Baz was hoping the topic wouldn’t come up, but he should’ve known when Dev set him up on this date that he’d schedule it right before their monthly get togethers. He also knew he couldn’t talk his way out of it so he steeled himself and knocked back what’s left of his glass.

“It’s the last time I trust you to introduce me to anyone,” Baz said, sending his best sneer toward Dev.

“What’s wrong with Tom?” Dev said defensively, “He’s a right laugh in meetings.”

“Babe I don’t think that’s a particularly high bar to clear,” Niall muttered, earning him a side-eye from Dev.

“Dev, he was laughing like a hyena for half of the date,” Baz said, pointing his fork at Dev, “And no, I wasn’t that funny. I am _not_ funny.”

“But that’s why he’s such a good laugh, he _is_ the good laugh!” When Baz didn’t respond, Dev just leant back and huffed, “Maybe I should call into that show with Dr. Agatha. Did you guys hear about that guy that called on Christmas? Apparently they got thousands of people calling in on Boxing Day. Everyone was talking about him at work, I think someone even sent a letter to the station.”

Baz tried to keep his face schooled, but Niall’s eyes were darting between the two of them and trying his best to not look uncomfortable. Despite him being able to fool the other teachers at work, he couldn’t hide it from Dev. “What’s with the covert gazes between you two.”

Evidently Niall didn’t tell Dev about what he’s pieced together in the staff room. Well, it wasn’t like Baz actually confirmed it, but Niall wasn’t thick, he didn’t need confirmation. That said, he was quite touched that he kept it a secret for him, even from Dev. He was also a terrible liar, so before things could get out of hand, Baz simply said, “I’m Lonely.”

Dev raised his eyebrow at him, “I mean I know you are, didn’t expect to just admit it and…wait. You mean Lonely as in _Lonely in London_?”

* * *

Niall avoided making eye contact with Dev who, frankly, looked like he was in a state of shock, “But Lonely…well you were so…open.”

 _Apparently me being open about my feelings is the most shocking revelation of all of this_.

“Yes Dev, I am actually capable of human emotion,” Baz said flatly, pouring himself another glass, “Mordy’s been having the time of her life.”

“Mordy? What’s she got to do with this?”

“She was the one that called in, Funny how the Grimms end up thinking so similarly. It’s like you share a singular brain cell. Just the one though.” Baz said as nonchalantly as possible, hiding his face behind his glass, “She’s been pretty fixated on this one letter actually.”

“What did it say?” Niall asked in the same tone he uses when asking Lillian, the new math teacher, when the chat up a storm about what happened on Love Island, which Baz found offensive, really.

“It was largely incoherent, an assault on the English language, and the audacity to suggest we meet in New York, on top of the Empire State Building. On Valentine’s Day,” Baz said, his voice getting increasingly more sugary as he mocked the idea more.

Niall was loving the drama of it all, but Dev seemed to be processing something. He was doing that thing where he chews on his cheek and tap his foot incessantly as if that would speed up his thought process.

“Were you talking about Snow, like Simon Salisbury?” Dev asked.

Baz wished Dev wasn’t as smart as he was.

“Wait, you know Snow?” Niall had no right looking as excited as he was.

Baz took in a deep breath, and just took another large gulp from his glass. The cat was out of the bag, but he wasn’t going to play _all_ his cards just like that.

“Yeah we all went to school together. Somehow,” Dev said, his mouth not quite able to close, “Wow, no wonder you didn’t like Tom. He’s literally the opposite of Snow. Physically, anyway.”

Baz had hoped that the topic would drop then, but he could see the cogs turning in Niall’s head and he braced himself for what was about to come, “So, do you have photos of this guy?”

“Yeah I do,” Dev said, pulling out his phone, and it was Baz’s time to be shocked. His traitorous body immediately shuffled over to see what Dev was pulling up on his screen. Lo and behold, Dev had in his hand, Snow’s Instagram, which was largely a collection of baked goods, Manchester cityscapes and unflattering selfies (not that he could ever be anything but gorgeous, but a man should know his angles).

Niall was studying the photo intensely then suddenly yelped, almost knocking Dev out of his chair. “This guy…he was here, today. Outside the school!”

Baz’s stomach did a flip – it was one thing to will himself into believing it was Snow, but to have someone else tell him that he wasn’t crazy and Snow was really there was another thing entirely.

“Well, he’s friends with Penelope Bunce, who’s Pip’s older sister so he was probably just running an errand or something.”

“All the way down in London when he lives in Manchester?” Niall questioned.

“Well, did you talk to him at least?” Dev asked, leaning in closer – clearly just as nosy and invested in his love life as Mordelia.

“All I could do was say hello.”

A beat passed, then Niall spoke up, “It’s just like that movie.”

“What movie?”

“ _An Affair To Remember_ ,” Niall said excitedly, Dev looked confused and Baz was ignoring the fact that this was the second time this bloody movie has come up. “It is kinda sweet in that Old Hollywood kinda way, but she never made it up because she got hit by – ”

“I know the film,” Baz said, cutting off Niall. Deborah Kerr never made it up to the Observation Deck because she was hit by a car while crossing the road, and Cary Grant waited for her all day, only to leave thinking she’s rejected him. They eventually reunite after he finds her on Christmas Eve.

_At least Snow didn’t actually get hit by the cab._

It seemed that Niall made the connection as well because he just looked at Baz and said, “It’s a sign. The cabbie, the letter. It’s a _sign_.”

“So, are you actually going to New York?” Dev asked.

“Absolutely not,” Baz said, “I have no interest in flying for eight hours to meet someone that could very much kill me.”

“It could be romantic though, can’t it? And it’ll be half-term, you’d have time.”

“Have neither of you not watched Catfish?” Going off how they were now staring at him judgmentally was indication that they didn’t, “Well I saw it and I know a bad idea when I see one. This? Has bad idea written all over it.”

Baz was honestly surprised that his friends were actively questioning his decision _not_ to fly to America to meet a stranger. The chances of this meeting leading to his true love were astronomical, and not to mention expensive and impractical. He quietly wished he actually gave the letter a proper read through – at least he’d know if this mystery man was open to meeting back here.

“On another note, even though I think they’re clearly related,” Niall said carefully, “Are you going to do anything about Snow? The one that showed up.”

“I honestly don’t know,” Baz said.

“You could just reach out,” Dev said, “Get back on Facebook, get yourself an Instagram.”

Baz initially disappeared from the Internet so that his students couldn’t find him, and he’s gotten quite used to the fact that he lived his life mostly offline. It wasn’t like his life was particularly interesting to begin with, and his decision to not be on social media has managed to keep Lonely and himself separate, much to his relief. 

Despite all that, he knew it would be so easy to just reach out, Snow’s Instagram was sitting on Dev’s phone right now. But he was a coward, “If Snow was looking for me, I’m sure he’ll show up again. It’s not like he can’t ask Bunce for an email. Honestly, he might not even have been looking for me. You saw how he ran away. If anything, I think it was a coincidences.”

Baz wasn’t sure if he was convincing himself or his friends, but that was enough for the conversation to drop for the evening. Their fish and chips have cooled down, but Baz was tired now and as much as he loved their company, he wanted Dev and Niall out of his flat sooner rather than later. Snow’s recent appearance in his thoughts, and now in bloody person has thrown him for a loop and he just wanted some time alone.

Before long they had finished off their food, drinks emptied and stomach full. Dev pulled him aside whilst Niall was putting his shoes on, “All joking aside, you’re alright, right?”

“Yes, Dev. I’m fine,” Baz said. They weren’t typically the type to talk about their feelings, but he knew Dev cared about him, and he for Dev, only in the way other Grimms understood. “Who knows, maybe my true love is just round the corner. But until I crash into him, I’m fine. Great, even.”

“If it’s a money thing, I can buy you a ticket to New York. Anything for family right,” he said with a grin.

“Get out of here,” Baz gave Dev a soft shove, mirroring Dev’s grin with his own.

With the flat to himself now, Baz couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was. Save for the pile of dishes and the pile of essays he had to grade, everything was impeccably clean and tidy. Not that it lacked personal touch or anything, but it was so singularly Baz. One day, there will be traces of another person, their aftershave would permeate from the bathroom throughout the house, their laundry inserted into Baz’s meticulously organised wardrobe, their books and clutter littered all over the house.

But that was in the future. For now, Baz was fine.


	8. CHAPTER 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's upset with himself, with Baz, with London and with Lonely.
> 
> At least Penny can be the bearer of good news.

**SIMON**

The drive back up to Manchester was horrible. The car was too hot. _He_ was too hot. He felt so embarrassed. Stupid. Silly.

 _Trust Baz to still make me feel like an idiot after all these years_.

Simon knew it was a long shot that Lonely could be Baz, but somehow he had convinced himself he was, and deluded enough to do a six hour round trip to London for it. He made a right fool of himself, standing in the middle of the road in front of a bunch of kids and Baz and almost got run over for it.

It’s been a good hour since he left London, driving as safely as he could despite his brain firing on all cylinders, bringing up a mess of emotions ranging from embarrassment, anxiety and for some unfair reason, anger. Simon wasn’t sure who he was angry at – Baz or himself. When they were younger, he could confidently say it was Baz, because that was how they worked. Baz pissed him off with whatever he had on hand, Simon would have a go at him and they’d fight until Simon burns out or Baz honourably retreats. Rinse and repeat.

But today, Baz didn’t do anything to him. Yet, Simon was angry at him (and himself), especially when the other guy put his arm around Baz.

 _Baz had a boyfriend. Because of course he does. If you’re into smart, tall dark and handsome types, Baz was exactly that_.

He knew, deep down, that there was more to be said about _him_ , finding out Baz had a boyfriend and feeling the immediate need to run away. Regardless of whether Baz was Lonely or not, the idea of Baz having a boyfriend while not unbelievable, was still a stark reminder that Baz had lived a whole life without him. Much like how Simon did.

They were two different people now, and maybe he had projected so much of what Lonely had said on to his own relationship with Baz that now he was wishing for something that was never there to begin with. As he got closer and closer to home, the fog in Simon’s mind was clearing, that what he and Baz went through was not unique. There were plenty of boarding schools in the country, and he’s certain not everyone got along.

The chances of Baz harbouring unresolved and unrequited feelings for him were small, and it was made clear today that Baz had moved on and found someone. Not someone _else_ because that implied that Simon meant more to him than just an annoying roommate, but someone, because that was all Simon was to him, someone.

He wished he didn’t feel as disappointed as he did.

* * *

Simon got in late that night, and unfortunately for him, Penny had waited up for him. He loved her with all his heart, but the moment he crossed the threshold, she was on to him, infinitely curious about how it went.

Tugging off his coat and toeing off his shoes, Simon began recounting his very brief encounter with Baz, “You know that dream, where you’re standing in the middle of a crowd naked?”

“Yeah I love that dream, but do go on,” Penny said.

“Well, I don’t. And it was worst than that because I actually had to _live_ through it.”

Penny patted on the sofa and Simon just flopped down next to her, “I just stood there, staring at him.” He ran his hands through his curls, as if tugging on them would purge his mind of the entire thing.

“Did you talk to him?” Penny asked, softly prying his hands out of his hair and clasping them in hers.

“He had a boyfriend Pen.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t…talk to him. You’ve probably known him longer than this boyfriend.”

“All I could do was say hello.”

Penny unceremoniously dropped his hand and scrambled for her laptop, a bit too animated, even for her. She only ever got like this when she’s somehow thought of a way to improve his hair-brained schemes, adding finesse. “Simon, _it’s a sign_.”

It wasn’t uncommon for Simon to be several paces behind Penny, not because he’s slow, but Penny was always one step ahead of everyone. She was pulling up a movie now, and Simon was all but lost as to where this was going.

“It’s a sign!” Penny said, and she scrubbed through the film until she got a scene up. It was definitely an old film, the colours were oddly saturated, slightly grainy and their voices a bit gritty. Not to mention everyone seemed a bit melodramatic, but tonally appropriate in that 1950s way.

“ _And all I could do was say hello”_ said some pretty actress with nice red lipstick.

Penny was looking at him expectantly but honestly he was lost. Sure he said the same thing as this lady on the screen, but Penny’s needed give him a bit more to go on, because his knowledge of old films only went back to the 80s, barely.

“This was the film I was watching when I suggested you go meet Lonely on top of the Empire State Building,” Penny explained.

“Yeah, alright. So I said the same thing as she did, and, really, isn’t it only a sign if it’s _my_ favourite movie?”

Penny took a deep breath and pulled out an envelope, “I did something,” she said, “I mailed your letter. To Lonely.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

Penny shuffled a bit nervously, “Well you looked so unsure, so I just mailed it. And if everything that could go wrong, went wrong, then I can burn it and pretend it never happened.”

“But the fact that you’re telling me means…”

“Something good came of it,” Penny said, “I read it, but here you go.”

Simon’s hands were shaking a bit. He had written the letter with Baz in mind – but that was before he found out Baz had a boyfriend.

“Pen, I’m done looking like a fool. I stalked my former nemesis outside his place of work. And there were children there. _Children_.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you stalked him…” Penny muttered.

“What?’

“Nothing. Look, Simon. Just read it, it’s good news. And even if Lonely isn’t Baz, I still think it’s worth a read.”

_~~Sup dude~~. Dear Snow,_

This was not a promising start. Baz would be physically pained saying those words, let alone committing them to the page. At least Lonely crossed it out.

_Your letter really spoke to us. All the right kinds of sentiment._

_We’d love to meet you in New York. It’ll be half-term, so we’ll have time off_.

_We can’t wait to see you._

_Lonely in London_.

Simon was pacing now, he was so unsure of what to make of it. Lonely talked about half-term and no normal adult would use the school calendar as a point of reference. Unless they had kids or working in education – which Baz was.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out with Baz, but there’s still Lonely. And even without him, and you don’t meet him, we still have New York. A whole week together!”

Simon just shrugged – he appreciated Penny’s efforts to cheer him up, and help him gain some clarity that maybe Lonely and Baz were two separate people. Resigning to the fact that this mess wasn’t going anywhere, so he might as well let this trouble him later and not think about it for now.

Turning to Penny with a small smile, “At least we have New York.”

“We do. I have a two-day conference on Friday and Saturday, then Sunday the company is throwing some big soiree party for all of us. Thanking us for attending and all that,” Penny said, “They said we could bring plus ones – want to come with me?”

“Do I need to bring a suit then?”

Penny just nodded and pulled him into a hug, “You can always bail, I heard there’s an open bar.”

“They won’t know what hit them.”


	9. CHAPTER 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The universe finds a reason for Baz to go to New York on Valentine's Day.

**MORDELIA**

Mordelia was oddly optimistic, which was why she decided to write back to him, telling him they’ll meet him. She genuinely believed that Snow would show up at the Empire State Building. But since Baz wouldn’t go to New York for the love of his life (potentially, the jury is still out on that one), then she’ll give a reason for him to go. She’ll _be_ the reason. This may be her best and worst idea yet.

She loved her brother. And she knew Baz loved her – she’s pretty sure she’s his favourite. So she knew he’d bail her out of trouble no matter what she did.

Was it crazy? Absolutely.

Was it irresponsible? Definitely.

No matter what, she got a trip to New York out of it. And if everything worked out, she doubted Baz would stay too angry about it.

She spent the day at school planning her journey. Naturally, British Airways was her default choice, the family has always flown with them, and if she was lucky, she could spend some of the air miles they had collected over the years and pay even less for the flight. Scrolling through the various flights, she settled on the 11:25am to New York from Heathrow. She could fly on Valentine’s Day and still arrive in New York on the same day. But this also meant she’ll need to somehow get out of the house at around 7am to make it to the station on time to get to London. Thankfully, Valentine’s Day was a Sunday. If it were a weekday, she’d most certainly get caught, but the weekend gave her a small window of opportunity to sneak out before anyone else got up.

Once she got home, she went about her evening as she normally would, doing her homework, winding her father up and then weaselling her way back into his good graces, teasing her younger siblings and asking for help for homework from her mother. Crucially, she had to get her mother’s phone, just in case any notifications came through about recent _purchases_.

Quietly lifting the phone off the kitchen island and into her pocket, she retreated to her room and went about putting her plan into action. Logging into her own British Airways account, she confirmed her suspicions that with all the air miles they had, she could afford a round-trip to New York, with flexi-dates. Baz could handle the hotel when he came to find her, because he (and her parents) can definitely afford something nicer than she could.

As she confirmed her booking, an email came through on her mother’s phone, alerting her of the recent activity in the account, which was swiftly deleted and purged from her mother’s inbox. And that was it, her flight was booked and with what she had on her debit card she could definitely survive for the day in New York, and then Baz would show up and sort everything else out.

 _Flawless_.

There was only one week left until the start of half-term, all she had to do was not get caught for the rest of the week and she’ll be off to New York. It was only until her ticket came through and she saved it on her phone that she realised the scale of this scheme.

Closing all her tabs, she made her way downstairs for dinner.

“Mum, you left your phone upstairs,” she said handing the phone back to her mother.

“I didn’t even notice, thank you darling,” her mother said, “did anyone call or message me?”

“Nope,” Mordelia said with a little pop.

“So half-term is coming up, any plans with friends?”

“Not really. I might go see Baz though, sometime in the week.”

“We’re going to lose you to London aren’t we?” her mother said with a sweet smile.

“Probably.”

* * *

The week went by painfully slow. Usually, it’d be because there was a holiday right around the corner, but obviously, this weekend was something entirely different. But at the same time, it was also here too soon.

After she made it out of her house with a healthy sized duffle bag of necessities, she was running on pure adrenaline, and she didn’t really calm down until she made it through security. Her phone sat in her pocket heavily, knowing that at any point it could ring and her plan would fail before it even took off, literally.

But the dreaded phone calls and messages never came. So, as the pilot instructed the cabin crew to prepare for take off, Mordelia took out her phone and sent a selfie to her family.

“ _Bound for you New York. See y’all later!”_

And then she toggled on Airplane Mode and held her breath as the plane took to the skies.

_At least Baz can’t catch a Concorde flight and get there before me._


	10. CHAPTER 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LHR - JFK.
> 
> TYRANNUS B GRIMM-PITCH
> 
> PREMIUM ECONOMY

**BAZ**

Half-term has officially started, he finished marking his essays and wished his students a nice break. Baz knew full well half of them would be saddled with homework and coursework, and the other half would leave it until the last minute, but that wasn’t his problem. By giving them a break from him, he also got a break from them.

He also overheard many a student planning their Valentine’s Day dates – friends deciding to get together to watch a slasher film, thinking they’re original. Young couples valuing the day a bit _too_ much and expecting the moon a stick. Any other year, Baz would just let the day go by, despite the obnoxious efforts by various shops and restaurants to peddle the day as an _actual_ holiday. However, this year, something loomed over him, specifically, the idea that someone was waiting for him on top of the Empire State Building.

 _As if that’s actually going to happen_. _Only an idiot would wait up there, especially when I didn’t reply._

What was most likely going to happen was he’ll wake up on Valentine’s Day, Sunday, and it would be any other day. Nothing will happen, and nothing will change. And it was with that mindset Baz went to bed on Saturday night, juggling between asking Dev and Niall to brunch, or finding Fiona to watch some slasher films, because he was also _very_ original.

* * *

His phone has been going off, non-stop. He had briefly glanced at it earlier, and just saw his father ringing and promptly let it ring out. It was a Sunday, and he had no plans starting the day by talking to his father. Admitting defeat, he groaned as he reached for his phone. He scanned the Home Screen while lying in bed and immediately became worried. Apparently, while he’s been asleep, some huge family crisis had happened.

**_Malcolm Grimm_ **

_93 Missed Calls_

**_Daphne_ **

_26 Missed Calls_

**_Malcolm Grimm_ **

_67 Messages_

**_Daphne_ **

_3 Messages_

**_Fi_ **

_49 Messages_

**_Mordy_ **

_1 Message_

The lesser of all the evils in his family meant checking Mordelia’s message first. She had sent him a selfie, he was about to just leave it when he noticed something very wrong.

She was on a plane. And the following text just said she was bound for New York.

 _Fuck_.

Weighing his options, he decided to call his father. Daphne would be a more pleasant phone call, but he needed someone that would react quickly and decisively. Which should mean Fiona, but she was not an entity one should deal with at 11:45. So by a process of elimination, it had to be his father.

His father picked up before he even got the phone to his ear.

“ _Basil, where have you been. Your –_ ”

“I know what happened, I got a message from Mordy too. Do you know anything about her flight?”

“ _She’s on the 11:25am flight to New York. British Airways._ ”

Baz was already on his feet, throwing together a bag, hunting for his passport and pulling out all his chargers. “How did she even get the money to fly to bloody New York.”

“ _Avios points, but details Basil. Do you know why she’s going to New York?_ ”

“I’m going to get to Heathrow now to get on the next flight out. And yes, I am pretty sure I know why she’s flying there,” Baz said, putting down his phone for a moment as he pulled a collection of black shirts, trousers and any socks and pants he could get his hands on. Weight limit and fashion be damned at this point, “Don't worry it’s not a cult. I’ll go get her. Could you guys call ahead and find a hotel for the two of us for the next…how long was her ticket for?”

“ _Thank you Basil. She chose the most expensive kind of ticket, so the dates are flexible, but as it stands it’s for a week_.”

Baz bit back a chuckle, of course the little demon would have thought to get a flexi-date ticket. And then it dawned on him that she did this to force his hand. He was furious, but he had to give credit where credit was due. Not that he’d ever tell her that. In fact, he may never speak to her again, and neither with their father or Daphne at this rate

“ _Basil? We need to know, why is she suddenly flying to New York._ ”

“It’s…” Baz hesitated to tell the whole truth because it’d implicate him, firstly, but it wasn’t even his fault, and after all, Mordelia was still his sister, “Just teenage rebellion. I’ll have her do the talking when we’re back. But for now, keep her debit cards active, she’ll need them until I land.”

“ _Basil –_ ”

“Father I have to go, I’ve packed a bag and I need my phone to call an Uber.” And with that he hung up and quickly changed out of his pyjamas. Just as he was dashing out the door, he caught his reflection. His hair was still a mess, but nothing a long haul flight wouldn’t flatten; a black turtleneck, his most comfortable jeans and a pair of Chelsea boots. A fleeting thought of meeting Mordelia and the person that wrote the stupid letter crossed his mind.

 _I am fucking numpty. I don’t need to look good for this bullshit_.

Nonetheless, he grabbed his new tan coat and bolted it out of the door, his Uber already waiting for him when he got down to the street.

* * *

Finding a last minute flight turned out to be harder than he thought. The only thing left with any availability was an American Airlines flight in Premium Economy, departing at 4:20pm from Heathrow. On the one hand it gave him ample time to get to the airport, but on the other it put him a solid several hours behind Mordelia – during which anything could happen to a sixteen year old girl in one of the busiest cities in the world.

Baz tried his best at the counter to get himself bumped up onto an earlier flight, but the man behind the counter just said flatly everything was booked out because of the school holidays. They didn’t even have a spare aisle seat he could swap to, which compounded his on-coming misery. Accepting his fate, he took the ticket and made his way through security. Given how early he was for his actual flight, he checked himself into the British Airways Lounge, finally finding time for a coffee and a bit of lunch.

 _At least it’s not coach. It’s coach with bells and whistles_.

Thankfully, his propensity for looking unfriendly, combined with his annoyance, made him downright unapproachable, leaving the seats around him empty, meaning he could seethe in his own privacy. Daphne had called him, a ball of nerves and anxiety, but she was able to get a twin room at the Mandarin Oriental by Times Square, despite it being Valentine’s Day.

Baz was never one to _flaunt_ his wealth, per se, but right now, he was glad for all the connections his family had because this was a big enough headache already. Dragging Mordelia around the streets of New York at night finding a hotel was one thing he was glad he didn’t need to do.

As the coffee made his way through his system, and the free buffet food settled in his stomach, he was feeling slightly less annoyed. He finally had a moment to sit back and assess the situation he was in. He wasn’t angry at Mordelia, not anymore, not _really_ , which meant he was just worried now and that was not a something he was looking forward to doing for the next eight hours. He couldn’t even check in with Mordelia before his flight because she wouldn’t have landed yet. His best bet was to try and contact her when she landed and hope she was stubborn enough to wait at the Empire State Building for someone that wasn’t going to show up.

The thought of _someone_ lead him to think about Snow, his Snow, not the one that Mordelia was adamant that Baz meet. Given that he was bound for New York anyway, he allowed himself to drift into a fantasy, one that had his Snow waiting there for him, and Mordelia there as well, safe and sound. He hadn’t actually thought of Snow for a very long time, not until recently, and as if the universe was playing the cruellest joke on him, he had to materialise in front of him and run away. Baz had told Dr. Agatha that one day he’d forget what it was like to wake up next to perfection, and until that phone call, he had all but forgotten. And since that phone call it had been one rude awakening after another than he was not waking up to Snow.

And so his mind went on, switching between thinking of Snow and thinking of Mordelia. Nothing American Airlines had for their in flight entertainment excited him, but he put on one film after another, hoping the film would drown out the drone of the cabin. And by some miracle, he managed to actually fall asleep for most of the flight, but judging by the passenger next to him he was probably fitful and not the best companion. It wasn’t his fault he was on the tall side and the seats were cramped, or that he was worried sick about his sister.Safe to say it was the longest flight of his life, and that was with him being unconscious for a good portion of it.

The moment he stepped off the plane he was a man on a mission. It was just past 7:30pm, if Mordelia had been waiting, she’d have been up there for hours. People often said Londoners walk fast, combine that with his long legs and sheer determination to get out of JFK, Baz was practically flying. He tapped his foot impatiently as they stamped him through passport control and he bolted through baggage claim and out the automatic doors. His eyes scanned for the iconic yellow taxicabs and found the line.

He fumbled with his phone, trying to call Mordelia after she didn’t reply to any of his messages. He all but threw his bag into the seat next to him as the attendant by the taxi stand slammed the door shut.

“Where to buddy?”

“Empire State Building.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shockingly, the most difficult part of this fic was looking up flight times between London and New York.
> 
> Because...you know.


	11. CHAPTER 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mordelia, the 86th Floor Observation Deck and...hope.
> 
> Hope for a man to show up.
> 
> Hope that her gamble pays off.
> 
> Snow will show up. She knew it.

**MORDELIA**

The first thing Mordelia noticed after landing was how plain JFK was. She had expected one of the most iconic airports in the world to come with a lot of bells and whistles, but in actuality it was a bit bland. She chose to ignore it as a sign for what was to come.

Meandering her way through passport control and skipping out on baggage claim, she queued up for a taxi – thanking the powers that be for all the taxis accepting card payments. Mordelia checked her phone and, as expected, saw about a million missed calls and even more messages from her parents, Fiona and one from Baz.

“ _I’m coming to get you. And when I find you I’m not letting you out my sight.”_

 _Bingo_.

Mordelia wasn’t heartless though, she sent a message to her parents informing them she was safe, and that she knew Baz was on his way to find her. Once she sent it, she looked up and realised how grey New York was looking in mid-February. It was chilly, and almost everyone else in line was looking slightly worse for wear. She was doing her best to punch down the doubt building at the back of her mind that what she had done was incredibly stupid, and that things will work out.

“Where to?” the attendant at the front of the taxi line.

“Empire State Building, please,” she said, putting forward the most confident face she could, which for a Grimm was definitely not something to be laughed at. The attendant opened the door and Mordelia climbed in as the attendant shouted to the driver her destination. Frankly, Mordelia was slightly taken aback by the volume of her voice, but if anything she read about New York was true, London would have prepared her for it, at least for the next couple of hours on her own.

First port of call was lunch, some chain around the Empire State Building, and as she chomped down on an overpriced panini and coffee, she had to figure out how to actually locate Snow. All he said was he’d be there, and Mordelia said as much back, but she had no idea what he looked like or when he’d show up. By the end of the meal, she resolved to listening out for any man that sounded vaguely British (even better if it was Northern, but Snow may have just moved there) and simply ask.

 _Flawless_.

She _knew_ it wasn’t a flawless plan but it’s the best she had so that was what she’s going to do.

What she didn’t account for was how expensive the tickets would be to go up to the Observation Deck, but if she wasn’t going to be reckless with her parent’s money at sixteen, when else would she be? So, she dutifully paid for her tickets and made her way to the Observation Deck. The lift attendant was unbelievably enthusiastic, saying his scripted bit as the lift climbed the tower, ferrying tourists to the exhibition that lead to the actual deck. Judging by other occupants of the lift who were loving this man’s spiel and effervescence, Mordelia she concluded she was the only one not buying it.

After a short exhibition about the history of the building and its various Hollywood outings, Mordelia found herself on the on the 86th floor – the Observation Deck. She moved as gracefully and quickly as she could through the crowd out of the little foyer and through the glass doors to reach the actual Main Deck. The skies seemed to have cleared up slightly, with a faint suggestion of a blue sky behind the grey clouds, but the air was still crisp, and being this high up meant the winds were a bit stronger than ground level.

But honestly? Mordelia didn’t care. Manhattan was right beneath her feet, Central Park a quiet sprawling patch of greenery in the city. What would be towering skyscrapers disappeared into the distance. If she strained her eyes, she could just about make out One World Trade somewhere _downtown_ , as they call it.

It was all a bit breathtaking and overwhelming, so much so that she briefly forgot the main reason she was here. It wasn’t to gawk at Manhattan, but to, hopefully, find her brother’s future happiness. So she started doing slow laps around the Observation Deck, paying close attention to any man that sounded remotely English, Scottish, Welsh, Irish. A brief thought entered her mind that the writer may not even be British, but he spelt everything with a U (the _correct_ way as Baz would say) so, either he’s committed or she was right to focus only on British men.

As she walked around, she’d catch an accent and she’d start scanning for the source of the voice, only to be disappointed when another girl or boy would show up and plant a soggy kiss and squeal about the view. But then she found one guy, he was on the phone and stuttering over something, but he sounded Northern, or at least from the Midlands. Mordelia gave a cursory once over, and she could see Baz finding him attractive, beardy, dark haired, but no matter what, he seems to be the first single British man on this Observation Deck and she’d kick herself for not asking.

Channelling her father’s impossibly calm demeanour and her mother’s blasé openness, she walked over and gave the man a tap on the shoulder, “Are you Snow?”

He looked at her slightly confused and shook his head, “Sorry, no.”

Apologising quietly and making her exit, Mordelia beat down the disappointment in her.

_Of course it wouldn’t be the first guy you ask. Where’s the romance in that? The drama?_

She continued her patrol, trying to do her best to avoid standing out too much to the security guards, and as luck would have it, there was another man, this time with a Scottish accent and with an older woman, who looked more like his mother than partner. Mordelia approached him, smiling, “Are you Snow?”

“Sorry no. I’m Greg.”

“Sorry, have a good day.”

And so the cycle continued over the next couple of hours, none of the men she spoke to were Snow. Mordelia was getting frustrated, refusing to acknowledge the growing disappointment in her. That said, she was getting better at brushing them off. It was slightly warmer now, but she was well aware that it’s been hours and there wasn’t much day left. In a desperate move, she started asking _any_ man if they were Snow, only to be shot down again and again.

Her enthusiasm has waned significantly, but her ears perked up when she heard another Northerner in the new group of tourists that funnelled through. Having little regard for niceties at this point (she was cold and grumpy and there’s no where up here she could get a warm drink), she marched over, ignoring the girlfriend on his arm, “Are you Snow?”

His eyes brightened, and Mordelia could sense a surge of hope, but then the girl next to him lit up as well, “Are you here looking for Snow?”

“Uh…” Mordelia was flustered, she didn’t foresee _this_ scenario.

“Wait, are you Mordy, the sister that made the call,” he said, “Wait, is Chaz here?”

Mordelia just smiled meekly and awkwardly, “He’s…on his way.”

“This is amazing,” she said, “Honestly good luck. It was really beautiful what your brother said.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know. Sorry to have bothered you,” Mordelia did a quick wave and walked away before the conversation could drag on. She spent a good hour avoiding the couple, not quite being able to bear them seeing her wander around aimlessly getting rejected by other strangers.

The sun had set a while ago, and any confidence she had has been beaten out of her by the weather. Mordelia slumped down in a corner, dropping her duffle bag, finally letting her feet rest. She was freezing, her phone was out of battery, as was her portable charger, and she was hungry. As soon as she started admitting to herself that she was tired, the floodgates were opened. The disappointment, embarrassment and fear swept over her. She was alone in a foreign city with no accommodation, her parents had chewed her out hours ago, but she knew Baz was on his way.

“I’m so sorry Baz,” she whispered to herself fighting back tears.

She pulled her coat tighter around her, huddling into herself. She still had hope that she’ll hear an English accent soon, but, this one would be one she’s known since she was a child.

 _I’m so sorry Baz_.

And she waits.


	12. CHAPTER 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz finally lands in New York. 
> 
> And every second spent dealing with the city is one more second away from Mordelia.

**BAZ**

_Fuck New York traffic_.

Despite how fast he got through airport, it still took an hour, and now with the traffic, he’s closing in on two hours. 

_This was supposed to take only half an hour. For pity’s sake_.

He couldn’t reach Mordelia, all he had from her was a message saying she was on the Empire State Building and she’ll be waiting. He couldn’t care less as their taxi drove into Manhattan, the beautiful buildings and skyscrapers all but ignored, his driver’s attempt at conversation unanswered as Baz incessantly checked his phone for anything from Mordelia.

If she was as smart as Baz thought she was, if her phone did run out of battery, she’d stay put and wait for him, and hopefully feel scared enough that Baz wouldn’t need to yell at her too much for this utterly stupid situation they have found themselves in.

Baz could literally see the Empire State building, so he made a decision, “Here’s fine, thanks.” He quickly paid the driver and hopped out of the taxi, bag in tow and ran the several blocks left to the Empire State Building. As his feet pounded on the pavement, he was grateful for New York’s grid system, which meant so long as he kept running straight, he’d get to the Empire State Building.

After what felt like an endless sprint, Baz arrived at the entrance of the Empire State Building in all its art deco grandeur, and counted his blessings that the lobby wasn’t decked out with Valentine’s Day decorations. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, he felt gross, but shockingly, the crispy February air was doing wonders to wake him up (along with the adrenaline), and the wind in his hair meant he was swapping out flight-induced flat hair to artistically windswept and dishevelled. Straightening up again, Baz marched into the building, and was about to push his way through to the lifts when a very smiley security guard got in his way.

“Hey man, if you wanna head up, you’re going to need a ticket, better make it quick though, last trip up leaving soon,” he said, all smiles, teeth stupidly straight, his glasses slightly too big for his face.

Baz blinked at him, and his head whipped around and saw, in big letters – TICKET OFFICE – adorned with roses and heart-shaped decorations. Apparently this meaningless Hallmark holiday only mattered where tourists were involved. Giving the security guard a curt nod, Baz went over and purchased a ticket, not even paying attention to the cost of it as his card was charged. Every second spent down here, meant one more for Mordelia being alone.

He made a point to wave the ticket to the security guard, “Thanks.”

“No problem, not many people up there right now, it’s late and cold. So you’ll probably have a better time than those that came during the afternoon. It’s surprisingly popular for people to come you know? On Valentine’s Day. Did you see that film? An Affair – ” 

“Yes. And thank you, for the reminder about the ticket. Uh…Shepard?” Baz said as his eyes skimmed over the badge, “Is the Observation Deck through this way?”

“Oh you’ve seen it. That’s real cool dude. And yes, through this way. My colleague will escort you up!”

Baz was appreciative of the bright attitude because it was so positive that it managed to slightly distract him from the problem at hand. It was nice to not have his insides be in overdrive for about two minutes. He was also grateful that he didn’t need to spend a lift ride up 82nd floors with Shepard, for as great as he seemed, Baz could only tolerate so much _happiness_ with jet lag involved.

Thankfully, his attendant was quite a bit older, and a lot less enthusiastic as he recited the scripted tour up the building, with Baz actually interjecting for the benefit of the other guests some key dates. He was always a know-it-all, be it at 8, 18 or 28. As soon as the _ding_ went, Baz was first out the door onto the Observation Deck.

He pushed open the glass doors, slightly taken by the gust of cold wind that rushed toward him when he stepped out. Pulling on his coat tighter around himself, he scanned for anyone that looked like his sister, and true to Shepard’s word, the view was breathtaking especially with the Observation Deck practically empty now. Baz resolved he’ll come up at a later day, maybe, but he had a job to do.

“Mordelia!” he shouted, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from the few remaining tourists milling about. He kept calling for her as he started his lap around the building, “Mordelia!” Still nothing. Pushing his hair out of his face, he was spinning, his eyes unable to focus, and a deep sense of dread building up in him. “Mordelia!”

“Baz?” came a quiet voice from a hunched figure in the corner. Baz has never felt so relieved to see his sister – dark hair, pale skin and a slightly softer widow’s peak. Her usual defiant grey eyes now damp and widened like a wounded animal caught in a trap.

She got up and ran to him and Baz immediately pulled her into a hug tightly, letting her haggard breathing and tears rub against his shoulder. At least she was scared enough now so Baz didn’t need to immediately launch into a lecture. Kids make mistakes all the time, though not usually of these proportions, but all Baz really cared about was that she wasn’t hurt.

“I’m so sorry Baz, I’m so sorry,” her voice muffled.

“It’s okay Mordelia, it’s okay,” he said softly, pulling back so that he could get a proper look at her. Any resolve he had to tell her off evaporated - she looked drain, her fire dimed and thoroughly defeated.

“I really thought he’d come, I really did,” she was sniffling now, which would be an improvement from sobbing, but given how much she was shaking, Baz wasn’t sure if it was from the crying or from catching a cold.

“None of that matters Mordy,” he said, slightly exasperated that _Snow_ of all things was what she was prioritising, Baz sighed, mulling over what he was about to say, to _really_ drive the point home. He needed her to know, and she was due at least some guilt tripping. “Mordy…I lost someone very dear to me before,” he knew that she would connect the dots and know he was referring to his mother, Natasha Pitch, who died when Baz was young, “I could remember how much that broke father, and I didn’t realise how much it affected _me_ until I was older. I can’t go through that again, what if something had happened to you?”

He pulled her back into a hug before she could answer, “You matter, so much, to me, to father, to Daphne. Don’t ever do this again, alright?”

There was a slight pause, but Mordelia eventually said, “I won’t.”

“You hungry?”

She nodded.

“Come on then, let’s go get you some food. Daphne’s managed to get us a room at the Mandarin tonight.”

“Room service?”

“That sounds splendid,” he said, keeping one arm around her as they made their way to the lift. Baz gave the lift attendant a wave, asking him to wait for them, and the two of them jogged quickly back into the warmth of the lobby and into the lift.

“Baz. How much trouble am I in?”

He raised an eyebrow at her and just smirked, “That’s…a problem for tomorrow, alright?”

As the doors of the lift closed, Baz swore he could hear a _ding_ come through from the other lift, but given what Shepard had said earlier about this being the last group of tourists allowed up, he figured it was just cleaners or security.

Baz hated that despite Mordelia being here now, in his sights and safe, he was sad that Snow – Simon or otherwise – apparently didn’t show up.


	13. CHAPTER 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Penny explore all the things New York has to offer to a tourist. But there was something sitting at the back of Simon's mind.
> 
> Should he go to the Empire State Building?

**SIMON**

New York was bloody cold, freezing. And this is coming from the guy that ran hot almost always. Another surprise for Simon was how much _less_ enthusiastic and overbearingly friendly the people seemed, at least in Manhattan, compared to what he’s heard from his friends. If anything, they had a very similar holier-than-thou attitude to Londoners, who always seemed to be in a permanent rush to get to nowhere, and treated slow walkers with contempt. That said, Simon just smiled, ramped up the accent and the general hostility would reduce significantly, because he was just another annoying tourist now, so _of course_ he was a numpty.

Despite the biting February winds, the last couple of days have been, honest to goodness, really fun.

Penny and Simon did the tourist sites, the Statue of Liberty, the Met, MoMA and Guggenheim. Just yesterday, the spent the day in Brooklyn, crossing the Brooklyn Bridge under soft rain. Other tourists had their brollies up, but for Simon and Penny, it was nothing but a drizzle. He did wonder why there were so many art museums on the itinerary, and he was sure Penny had optimised their itinerary for maximum efficiency and savings, so he just went along with it.

Their City Passes gave them an option for either the Empire State Building or the Rockefeller Centre. Penny hadn’t pressed him, in fact, he was the one to bring it up, “You don’t get a view of New York with the Empire State Building in it, if you’re _on_ it.” And so they went, admired the city below them and took their photos with the beautiful silhouette of the Empire State Building behind them.

It was the unspoken question between them. Penny knew that Simon wouldn’t make up his mind until he did, and until then, there was no point really telling him to go either way. That said, she was quite shocked when he suggested going to the Rockefeller Centre. It was sentimental and silly, but he wanted to savour the experience with Lonely, if he did decide to go to the Empire State Building.

And that was what he was left with whilst Penny attended her conference. Well, that was the plan, but his friends at the bakery had other plans. Aside from sending him updates about just how fine the bakery was doing and reassuring to _enjoy_ his time off, they also gave him a list of all the best bakeries in New York. Simon carved through them. Trixie and Keris expected notes and photos (which Simon tried his best to do, but eventually just stuck to the photos) and Ebb just told him to enjoy himself, confident that their scones were the best (she was right).

He wouldn’t admit it, but the pastries at Magnolia were beautiful, and he was tempted to work with Trixie and see how they could jazz up their own back home. He just needed to find the perfect excuse to do it – probably when Trixie started prepping for mooncakes sometime in autumn. She won’t tell him the recipe, it’s a family thing apparently, but Simon’s sure they could discuss something.

Their trip was nearing it’s end, tonight was Valentine’s Day, and Simon’s spent all day worrying about whether or not to go to the Empire State Building, and now he had missed his opportunity because he had a party to go to with Penny. After all, was no real reason for him to go, he’s not even sure if Lonely would be there. The letter he got had next to no information as to time or how even to identify Lonely, he could’ve spent all day waiting for nothing.

 _It’s for the best_.

That was what he thought when he put on his dark navy suit, and squeezed into his new leather shoes (Penny found a vintage shop and Simon, in a rare show of fashion consciousness, fell in love). And now he was at some drinks reception as Penny’s date, surrounded by people in the publishing industry. Determined to have a good time, he purged his mind of all thoughts Valentine’s Day and mingled with the other guests.

It wasn’t hard to be distracted, really, the venue was beautiful. Just like the movies, they were on some rooftop terrace of some swanky Manhattan bar with soft house music playing. It felt exclusive, to the point that Simon doubted Penny was really allowed to bring a date, but he feared for the person who’d dare challenge her on that, especially since he’s here already. But for his own sanity, he quietly sipped on his drink and made the appropriate noises as Penny and her colleagues discussed something about a language shift from too-long-ago century. His singular contribution that night was a debate for improving the bookstore experience with something like a coffee shop, a place for shoppers and readers to park down and read.

His ears perked up when he overheard a conversation concerning Lonely. One of the editors from Penny’s office was telling the people in her little group of people, mostly Americans, about the weird but brief phenomenon that was Lonely in London. Simon’s back stiffened and he could feel his face getting warm, and he knew it was only moments before his face went beet red.

Quickly excusing himself, Simon ducked away from the group and perched himself against a railing, trying to come up with a list to distract his mind away from Lonely in London, and the image of that red-haired man with his arm around Baz, smiling.

“You really not going?”

Simon looked up and saw Penny, her long curly hair pulled back, her beautiful purple dress hidden under a sensible and practical coat. He just shrugged, “He’s probably not there.” Simon wasn’t sure if he meant the imagined person of Lonely, or Baz.

“Simon,” Penny said with a small smile, “The Empire State Building Observation Deck closes at 11.”

Checking his phone, Simon let out an empty chuckle, “Well, it’s already 10, and we’re miles away.”

Penny cocked her head and just pointed to something behind him. Turning around he could see it, right in front of him. The Empire State Building, shining, tall and the lights along the building slowly forming a giant red heart.

“It’s a sign,” he found himself muttering. Facing Penny again, his eyes were wide, and his heartbeat starting to get faster.

“Go,” Penny said, beaming at him, excited for him, “Hell, it was my idea in the first place. Go, Simon.”

Simon didn’t need to be told twice. He threw back his drink and legged it out of the bar. There was a small buzz in his ears, and his throat was getting a bit dry, but he pushed it back. When he got to street level, he looked up and found the tip of the Empire State Building peaking out.

_New York’s built on a grid._

And he ran. His feet very quickly started to hurt, he regretted the new leather shoes that were still far too stiff for a running montage, but he didn’t care. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his shoes making contact with the pavement as he sprinted straight ahead. He could feel the wind undoing any attempts he made at taming his curls, his black coat billowing in the wind. He also hated his earlier decision to opt for a fashionable, but tighter suit. Had he known there’d be a chase scene, he would’ve attended the party in his trackies. He dodged and weaved his way through the perpetually busy streets, occasionally apologising for barging into people. It was as if the wind was carrying him to some great destiny, a magnetic pull that he had fought against all day was now unleashing its full power.

Simon ran through a red light, rounded a corner and soon found himself at the ground entrance of the Empire State Building. He could feel a stitch coming on as well as blisters, but nonetheless, he pushed through and he just charged towards the lifts.

“Woah woah. Man, slow down,” a tall and lanky security guard said, he pushed his large glasses back up his nose, “If you want to go up…sorry, you just missed last entry.”

Simon wanted to kick himself for not getting here earlier, but he was here _now_ , and he wasn’t going to back down without a fight. Rolling his shoulders back, trying to stand taller (which did him no good on account of the security guard still having a more than a couple of inches on him).

“Look, uh…” He glances at the name-tag, “Shepard. I need to get up there. I said I’ll meet someone up there for Valentine’s Day. And…and I need to go. Even if he’s not up there, I need to go, and know. For myself.” He wasn’t tripping over his words, but trying to catch his breath and make an impassioned plea.

“You told someone you’re going to meet them…atop the Empire State Building…on Valentine’s Day?”

Simon looked down, “It sounded smarter in my head ok – ”

“Just like that movie. An Affair to Remember,” Shepard said excitedly.

“Yes. Yes! Just like the movie,” Simon said smiling widely, “Please Shepard.”

Shepard eyed the lifts behind him, there was one that on its way up, probably to collect guests, and one on the ground floor. Simon was holding his breath, looking at Shepard pleadingly.

“Good luck man,” Shepard stepped aside, and swiped his security badge, opening the gate. Simon was elated and jogged towards the lift, “I have to go up with you, security reasons.” Simon had his doubts about that, but he wasn’t going to argue.

The lift arrived at the 82nd Floor. Simon’s hands were clammy, but he had the entire ride up to panic and fret. He was here now and there was no turning back. “Can you just…give me a minute?” Simon said softly, to which Shepard just smiled and nodded, gesturing for him to step out.

He stepped out from the lobby and onto the deserted Observation Deck, he slowly made his way around, chewing on his lip. Looking at both the glittering city at night, but also for any sign that there was still someone crazy enough to be up here this late.

But there was no one.

He couldn’t help the lump in his throat forming, the slightly dampness building in his eyes and that drop in his stomach that read as disappointment. Simon knew wanting was bad, because _this_ was what it led to. Wanting something he didn’t even know he wanted, only to be let down was crushing. Granted, Simon knew he had a shot, he knew he had all day to come up and find out for himself, but he didn’t, so perhaps there were now two disappointed people in this city.

Simon threw his head back, willing to keep his tears at bay – he didn’t want to disappoint Shepard as well. He wiped face with the back of his hand and was about to head back to the lift when he noticed a large duffle bag. Simon knew he needed to contact security – well, Shepard – immediately, but something on the bag was telling him it wasn’t dangerous. He knew the bag, he _had_ one. Walking over to it, he could see it clearer, and he was right.

The logo was faded, but it was the duffle bag that Watford School issued to their sports teams for when they travelled away for games. Simon had one (rugby), as did Baz (football).

_That must mean that –_

“I know it’s here somewhere!”

Simon’s head whipped around, and found himself face to face to a pair of stormy grey eyes and a stern widow’s peak. It was a face he knew well – it had stared at him with scorn, hate and confusion so many times.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

They were staring at each other, neither knowing quite what to say. Simon couldn’t believe he was here, and after everything that has happened, from meeting him at Watford, to growing up, to leaving Watford, to Simon finding him again in London. It would be now, in New York, on Valentine’s Day that they’d finally figured themselves out.

“Are you Snow?” the girl said, who he assumed was Mordy, the one that made the call into the show.

He grinned at her, and at Baz, who didn’t raise his eyebrow as Simon expected, but instead smiled at him, “Yes. Yes he is.”

Baz took a step towards him, and he looked nervous, “Simon.”

“Baz,” Simon said, and he said the first thing that came to mind, “You’re in jeans.”

And he laughed, they both did. The absurdity of the situation finally catching up to them. There was so much Simon wanted to say, but he didn’t know what to say first, or how to say any of it, because Baz was laughing and it was _beautiful_. He had said Simon lit up the room, but hearing Baz laugh now, Simon could swear he could shine brighter than all of New York.

They were interrupted when Shepard cleared his throat, gesturing towards the lift.

Baz looked him the eye, the nerves he had now replaced with something else, it looked like, hope.

“Shall we?” Baz said, holding out his hand.

Simon smirked and tentatively took his hand, gently tightening his grip around Baz’s. They walked silently toward the lift, both stealing glances at each other, only to catch each other and blush, looking away immediately.

“Would you want to grab a drink tomorrow?”

“What about a drink now?”

Simon gave him a lopsided smile and Baz just gave his hand a tight squeeze.

Simon could swear as the lift doors closed, he heard Mordy mutter, “Magic.”


	14. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year to the day, Dr. Agatha Wellbelove receives a phone call from a familiar voice.

**AGATHA**

“We’re live in 3, 2…” Ginger finished her countdown and the Christmas version of their opening jingle played out. Agatha took a sip of her honey and lemon water and tucked away strands of her blonde hair that weren’t already pulled back by her headphones. The jingle ended, and Ginger had given her the cue to go.

“You’ve just tuned into BBC Radio 1. I am Dr. Agatha Wellbelove, here to ask the question: To Be Loved or Not To Be Loved.”

She was about to explain the premise of the show when Gareth held up a handwritten sign saying _WE ALREADY HAVE A CALLER_. Agatha quickly traced circles in the air with her fingers, signalling to tell the caller to hold the line.

“…Where you call in to convince me, and other listeners, whether love is truly dead,” she said brightly, as she has done every other night. Ginger was waving a Santa hat at her and she caught on immediately, “Merry Christmas everyone.”

She gave her team a thumbs up, telling them to ready the caller, “It would appear that we already have a caller today. It might truly be a Christmas miracle,” giving it a second she pressed the answer button. “Hello. I am Dr. Agatha Wellbelove. May we – ”

“ _It’s good to speak to you again Dr. Agatha.”_

She raised an eyebrow, slightly intrigued. She could hear a second voice, another man, “ _Are we on the call now? Ow **beep**. **Beep** I can’t swear can I?_”

“ _Sit down you nightmare. Apologies, Dr Agatha?_ ” the caller said. Agatha was starting to recognise the voice, it was posh, confident, proud and a bit too much. But the way he was talking to the other person, the way he called him an “ _absolute nightmare_ ”, a vague memory emerged in the back of her mind.

_It couldn’t be him…right?_

“Yes, still here,” she said brightly, “Sorry to be presumptuous but, have we spoken before?”

“ _We have_.”

Agatha could feel the smugness through the phone, but even she found herself smiling. It also wasn’t her first day working as a radio show host, so she knew how to milk the moment, how to keep audiences at home on the edge of their seats.

“Everyone, it looks like we have a repeat caller. So who are you? Desperate in Derby? Hopeless in Hertford? Eager in Edinburgh?”

“ _How does she come up with all of those?_ ” the other voice said. If the caller was who Agatha suspected it was, she really hoped the other man was who she hoped it was.

“ _I’m Lonely in London_.”

Agatha could see Ginger bolt right up, Gareth’s jaw dropped. Their most popular caller called back, on the same day, a year later. Everyone in the room knew how busy things would get the moment this call was over. But right now, she couldn't care less, because for the next couple of minutes, she could believe that true love did exist for other people. And it made her happy that maybe her show had something to do with it.

“Well isn’t that delightful,” she said, laughing, “How have you been this past year?”

“ _Turns out. Not so lonely anymore. Say something._ ”

 _“Hey Agatha. Dr. Agatha. Um…yeah, I’m Snow._ ”

“So I take it you found him.”

“ _We, uh, kinda found each other_.”

“How did you know? After so long?”

“ _He lit a match inside me_ ,” Lonely said, taking the phone back, “ _And the flame never went out_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it folks!
> 
> Thank you all who have read this fic, in chunks, in one go, only the first few chapters. This has been such a fun fic to write and it gave me a wonderful excuse to revisit the film incessantly.
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
